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An Illustrated Monthly 

Vol. Llll 



Xoiidon : 




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A' I" ATI'S 81, 188, 292, 373, 469, 567 

AMHASSAliOR, THE Austin Philips. 146 

AfcMY, LNTRAININ'O THE. Or* Solution of a Preying Problem 5x5 

fnutrrati/sft* by W, Heath ko**ir»v>n. 


ISAKflKK OF BAGDAD, THE James Mor m, 98 

i\\u%ir*tv/m »/y J. A, Sb^pberd, 

HKPORK AND AFTER W. Pett Ridge. 50 

HKIDGE, PIRATE, The Latent Improvement upon Auction R.F.Foster. 193 

UK1TI.SH CAMPAIGN IN FRANCE, frHE .. .. A. Cotian Doyle. 19, 122, 267, 350, 461, 555 

fj)u«trftti"n* from l>r*w\nn%. 

"CAMOUFLAGE" .« Roland Pertwee. 502 

ftlijttr»iti'mt \iy Lewi* Hautn'r. 

c IN'EMA THRILLS. How they arc Produced .. Edward Molt Woolley. 326 

Hhi«frAii"Ji< from Photograph*. 

" CONFESSION CORNER M Mrs. Baillie Reynolds. 546 

Hlti'trntbin* by Treyer Kvant 


Hhutrnflorj* by K. Grshftm Coot«%, 

CURIOSITIES 103,208,312,416,512,608 

U1ii«imllori4 from Photograph*. 

"CURLICUE, THE ART OF THE" Vernon Woodhouse. 391 

flliiMrftiioiu by ICmlnmt Humorous Artists. 

DANCE DRESS THE .. , John Hilary Garratt. 33 

llluttriitiort* by A. (illUrrl. 


UliiMtmlriit* from I'lmtoKrapliii 


|lbi«lnitlotiii from I>r.\wititf» nu«l Ph<>l>'K'upt". 

DULL MAN IS A MAD MAN, WHY THE Arnold Bennett. 542 

UlilnlMtloiiK by Alfred L<!fie. 

I« AIRY LIFT. THE Keble Howard. 255 

lllutlMllonn "V Treyrr Evan*, 


Tuic Yui'Nc; Man with a Calm Mind George Auriol. 17 

Sampn^M Alphonse Allais. 18 

A TINY Talk Max and Alex Fischer. 188 

TlIK PniNONKR Rudolphe Bringer. 266 

(IKORCiE. THE REAL LLOYD T. P. O'Connor, M. P. 156 

llhuimiUm* bom Phoinm«tpb<i. 


lUiiMritlifHH bv All»r*l*. 

Original from 

/ Original from 


INDEX. iii. 


GILLIE AND THE TWINS.. .. .. .. Justin Huntly McCarthy. 135 

Illustrations by Reginald F. Smith. 


Illustrations from Old Prints. 


Illustrations by Thomas Henry. 


Illustrations from Drawings. 


Illustrations from Photographs by the Author. 


Illustrations by Alfred Leete. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 

-KAISER TO RIDE TO DEATH, DOOMED BY THE." The Memorial Tablet 103 

KISS, THE George Agnew Chamberlain. 116 

Illustrations by Lewis Baumer. 

" LESSER CELANDINE, THE " Margaret Strickland. 470 

Illustrations by Stanley Davis. 

LIKE MICHAEL .. .. H.G.Dwight. 3 

Illustrations by Graham Simmons. 

LOBSTER-SALAD Lynn Doyle. 451 

Illustrations by Alfred Leete. 

MALE PARTS I SHOULD LIKE TO ACT. The Opinions of Well-Known Actresses 141 

Illustrations from Photographs. 

MAN-TRAP, THE .• "Sapper." 419 

Illustrations by G. E. Studdy. 

MAN WHO STRAFED THE KAISER, THE Albert Dorrington. 402 

MAN WITH THE PLOUGH, THE .. Roland Pertwee. 107 

Illustrations by Warwick Reynolds. 

MAUD AND BILL Booth Tarkington. 339 

Illustrations by Thomas Fogarty. 


Illustrations from Facsimiles. 

"NA6H VERDUN!".. F . Britten Austin. 531 

Illustrations by Christopher Clark. 

NATIONAL LENT, THE Lady Gordon. 361 

Illustrations by H. M. Bateman. 

" OWING TO THE WAR " Barry Pain. 61 

Illustrations by Reginald F. Smith. 

" PANZERKRAFTWAGEN " F. Britten Austin 315 

Illustrations by F. De Haenen. 

PEACE COMES ALONG, WHEN A Series of Dramngs by W. Heath Robinson. 249 

PERPLEXITIES .. Henry E. Dudeney. 95, 196, 311, 415, 501, 607 

Illustrations from Diagrams. 

PETIT-JEAN Ian Hay. 596 

Illustrations by Warwick Reynolds. 

PLAYING THE GAME Henry J. Ley. 197 

Illustrations by J. A. Shepherd. 



Landon Ronald 1 74 

Illustrations from Photographs. 

PRISON HUMOUR Canon H or sley. 228 

Illustrations by. A. E. Home. 

PROCR S2oii^ »»-.•• >6 Q |e c 


iv. INDEX. 


" PROMEETHURUS " Written and Illustrated by Hay ward Young. 64 


Illustrations from Drawings. 

PUNCH ARD'S AGENCY .. ./ .. Edgar Jepon. 

L— The Tube of Radium .... 281 

II.— The Stolen Botticelli . . . . " . . . . 364 

III.— The Lost Dfc Montmorency . . . - 435 

Illustrations by A. Gilbert. 

PUZZLE PICTURES By Eminent Artists. 293 


" QUEER COUPLES," H. M. fiATEMAN'S— ACCORDING TO MARIA . . . . Mrs. John Lane. 260 

RAIDERS, THE .. .. Patrick MaeGiU. 86 

Illustrations by Graham Simmons. 


Illustrations by F. Gillett, R.I. 

SCOTTISH BENCH AND BAR, HUMOURS OF THE . .r . . . . Sir J. H. A. Macdonald. 43 

Illustrations by Helen McKie. 

SHADOW ON THE BLIND, THE Horace Annesley Vachell. 518 

Illustrations by C. H. Percival. 

SHY NEIGHBOURHOODS Charles Dickens. 526 

Illustrations by J. A. Shepherd. 

SKETCH-BOOK f ROM THE TRENCHES, A. The Work of Lieutenant Walter Kirby. F. W. Martindale. 222 


Illustrations from Photographs. 


STRANGER THAN FICTION.— II. Some Examples from My Scrap- Books .. .. Geo. R.Sims, n 
Illustrations by Dudley Tennant. 


Illustrations from Drawings. 


Illustrations from Drawings. 

UNEASY MONEY P. G. Wodehouse. 68, 163, 296, 381, 489, 581 

Illustrations by Clarence F. Underwood. 


Illustrations by Clarence F. Underwood. 


Illustrations by Tom Peddie. 

WITCHCRAFT IN WAR-TIME • Hayden Church. 183 

Illustrations from a Photograph and Drawings. 

WOMEN PROPOSE, HOW A.St. John Adcock. 374 

Illustrations from Photographs and Drawings. 


Illustrations from Drawings. 


by \jOOgl 




TO THE FRONT. See Page 1 04. 

PuM ijtied mo nth I j by tiEORGE M;WNES t Ltd.. tf tn m Southampton Street, strand. London. England. 

& gene****' 

They all enjoy a wash with 

Coal Tar Soap 

(The Soldiers' Soap.) 
It Soothes, Protects, Heals. 

Price in United Kingdom. 4d, per tablet. 

Australia, Canada, India, & British Colonies,. Ed, per tablet* 



C^f\r%ct\i* Original from 







[See paee 4 ) Original from 




Vol. 53. 

JANUARY, 1917. 

No. 313. 



Illustrated by Graham Simmons. 

HAT was Michael like ? You 
have the courage to ask me, 
between two whiffs of a 
cigarette, what Michael was 
like ! How the deuce do I 
know ? I never had any- 
thing particular to do with 
him. He was like fifty million other people 
with darkish hair and lightish eyes and 
youngish tastes whom neither, their sur- 
roundings nor their inner devil have beaten 
into distinction. I can only tell you what he 
was like at two very different moments of his 
life, in two entirely different places. Perhaps 
you are naturalist enough to construct the 
rest of him out of that. I am not. 

Michael, now — why should a man like that 
disappear ? Surely not for the few thousand 
dollars that disappeared with him. Nothing 
was the matter with him. He had a good 
enough job. He was married to a nice 
enough girl. He would have prospered and 
grown fat and begotten a little Michael or 
two to follow his example. But those reaping 
and binding people suddenly take it into 
their heads to send him over there, and he 
disappears like a collar-button in a crack. 

Aurora — Mrs. Michael that was — longed 
for higher things, for wider horizons than 
those of North Bluff, Indiana. Above all 
things, she burned for two which cohabit 
not too readily under the same roof — culture 
and romance. So whqn Michael was un- 
expectedly sent to the East she accompanied 
him only-as far as Paris; My relations with 
her, I regret to say, were such that she did 
not confide to me what she thought when 
Michael failed to turn up again. You can 
easily see, however, that Michael translated, 
Michael probably murdered, Michael made, at 

all events, for once in his life, mysterious, 
was a very different pair of sleeves from the 
Michael whom she had not considered impor- 
tant enough to see off on his Orient Express. 
Aurora was not the one to miss that. It put 
her in the papers. It made her a heroine. 
It invested her with the romance for which 
she thirsted. It also invested her with 
extremely becoming mourning. Yet I fancied 
once or twice that I detected in her a shade 
of annoyance. She was capable of choosing 
an occultist for her second husband, but in 
the bottom of her heart she hated people to 
be as indefinite as Michael had been. She 
naturally did not like, either, a rumour of 
which she caught echoes, that Michael had 

run away from her. Well 

When Aurora heard that I was going to 
Constantinople, she asked me to find out what 
I could. It was quite a bit afterward, you 
know, and she had already entered the holy 
bonds of wedlock with her occultist. But 
she couldn't quite get over that exasperating 
indefiniteness of Michael's. She wanted to 
put a tangible tombstone over him. Wayne, 
too — Michael's uncle and one of the reaping 
and binding partners — suggested that I 
should look quietly about once more. What 
the partners principally minded, of course, 
was their money. They got no end of free 
advertising, you know, what with .the fuss 
the Government made, and all. * People who 
had sat in darkness all their lives, never 
having heard of a reaper and binder, suddenly 
saw a great light when the Bosphorus was 
dragged and Thrace and Asia Minor sifted 
for an obscure agent of reapers and binders. 
I ended by finding out about Michael long 
after I had given up trying to find out. It 
was nothing but s.n accident. I never told 



Wayne. I never told Aurora. I never 
intended to tell you. Another accident ! 
But isn't it aggravating how one's best 
stories always have to be kept dark ? 

So the romantic Aurora, as I told you, 
sat in Paris like a true American wife, inviting 
her soul in the Louvre — both masie and 
magasins — while the unromantic Michael set 
forth for that bourne whence he was not to 
return with his reaper and binder under 
his arm. 

Michael had never been anywhere before in 
his life. He was caught by Stamboul ; took 
an astonishing fancy to that bumpy old 
place and those mangy dogs and those fan- 
tastic smells and those inconvenient costumes 
and those dusty bazaars and all the trash 
that is in them. He bought quantities of it. 

That junk, as it happened, was just what 
played so fateful a part in Michael's adventure. 
He bought a good deal of it from a certain 
antiquity man who knew English better than 
anyone else Michael ran across in the bazaars. 
Finding Michael a promising customer, the 
antiquity man said he had better stuff stored 
away in a khan outside the bazaars. And 
Michael, of course, was delighted to go and 
look at it. Do you wonder ? The antiquity 
man took Michael up some stone stairs and 
then into a series of dirty little stone rooms 
full of all sorts of queer-looking boxes and 
bundles. And some of the boxes and bundles 
were opened with great ceremony, andRhodian 
plates were brought forth for Michael to 
admire, Persian tiles, and Byzantine enamels. 
You know the sort of thing. 

Michael liked it so much that he spent 
more time in that extraordinary maze than 
was good for his reapers and binders. The 
people got to know him by sight, and they 
let him rummage around by himself. So, 
when Michael turned up at his particular 
antiquity man's one afternoon to look at 
some pottery, and the antiquity man hap- 
pened to be out, he was given coffee 
and left more or less to his own devices. 
Michael prowled mildly about, finding 
nothing much to look at but packing-cases 
and kerosene tins, those big rectangular 
ones that everybody in the Levant hoards 
like gold. He presently recognized, however, 
on top of a pile of boxes, a basket that he had 
seen at the antiquity man's shop in the 
bazaars — a basket, with an odd little red 
.figure in the wicker, containing embroideries. 
He managed to get it down, and found it 
unexpectedly heavy. It turned out to be 
full this time of broken tiles. He poked 

them over. Each bit was worth something 
for a flower on it or an Arabic letter or a 
glint of Persian lustre. But as he poked 
down through them, what should he come 
across but some funny-looking metal things, 
some round, some square, some with clock- 
work fastened to them. Bombs ! He pro- 
ceeded very gingerly to replace the bits of 

Just then he became aware that the 
antiquity man had come in quietly and was 
looking at him. 

" What the devil have you got here ? *' 
asked Michael, with a laugh. "An ammuni- 
tion factory ? " 

The antiquity man shrugged his shoulders 
and smiled. 

" I have better than that. I have a 
Rhages jar for you to lopk at, if you will 
come this way." 

A Rhages jar! I don't suppose Michael 
had ever until that moment heard of a Rhages 
jar. However, he followed the antiquity 
man into another room even more crowded 
with boxes and tins ; and there, to be sure, 
the Rhages jar was put into his hands, lut 
the place was so dark he could hardly see it. 

"If you will excuse me another moment/' 
said the antiquity man, " I will get a light." 

He was gone, as he said, only a moment. 
When he came back a servant followed him, 
carrying a candle — a big porter whom 
Michael already knew by sight, in baggy 
blue clothes and a red girdle. Michael 
nodded to him, and the man salaamed. 
Then the antiquity man pointed out to 
Michael, by the light of the candle, the 
beauties of the Rhages jar. As he did so 
another man came in, an older man with 
extraordinary scarlet streaks in his beard. 
He gravely saluted Michael and took the 
candle from the porter, who went out. The 
porter very soon returned, however. This 
time he carried a tray on which was ene of 
those handleless little cups of Turkish coffee 
in a holder of filigree silver. The antiquity 
man set down the Rhages jar. 

11 Won't you have a cup of coffee ? " he 
said, making a sign to the porter. 

" No, thank you," replied Michael That 
was one thing about Stamboul he didn't 
altogether like — that eternal sipping of muddy 

" Oh, but just one ! " insisted the antiquitv 
man. " Why not ? " 

44 I've had one already," answered Michael. 
" I'm not used to it, you know. It keeps me 

The antiquitv man smiled a little. 



" But not this coffee/' he said. " I think 
you will find that it does not keep you 

It began to come over Michael that there 
was more than the coffee that he didn't like. 
Was it the air in that stuffy, dark little stone 
room ? Was it the way in which the three 
men looked at him ? Was it that basket of 
broken tiles ? 

" No, thanks/' he said. And he added : 
" Let's go out where we can see. It's too 
hot in here, too." 

He looked around for the door. He 
couldn't see it from where he stood. The 
antiquity man said something and the porter 
stood aside. Michael stepped past him, 
around some big boxes. The door was there. 
Michael suddenly heard it click ; but in 
front of it a fourth man stood in the shadow. 
He did not move when Michael stepped 
forward. He stood there in front of the 
door, with his hands in his coat pockets. 
Michael was quite sure he didn't like that. 

" Pardon" he said, " I want to go out." 

1 he man shook his head. At a word from 
the antiquity man, however, he moved aside, 
keeping his handi in his pockets. Michael 
reached out for the door. It was locked. 

He liked that least of all. He had a sudden 
impulse to pound the door, the man beside 
him. Yet the next moment he was ashamed 
of it. He turned around. The others had 
come forward,around the boxes — the antiquity 
man, the big porter with the tray, the old 
man carrying the candle. In the light of it 
Michael looked at the other one, the one who 
had shut the door. He was young and very 
dark, with a scar across his chin. Michael 
looked at them all. What in the world 
had come over them ? Could it be that they 
took that basket of tiles too seriously ? 
Could it be that they, too, were not what 
they seemed, that under their first friendliness 
were dark and uncanny things ? All the old 
wives' tales that Westerners hear of the 
East came vaguely, yet disquietingly, back 
to him. It was with an effort that he 
folded his arms and turned to the antiquity 

" Your methods of doing business," he 
remarked, " strike me as being rather 

"It is a peculiar business," said the 
antiquity man. 

" Is it your idea that people should be 
farced to buy Rhages jars whether they want 
them or not ? " 

" The Rhages jar is not for sale," replied 
the antiquitv man. 

" Oh ! " exclaimed Michael. " Then what 
is the matter ? What are you after ? " 

" Not your money," said the antiquity 
man. " Please believe that, sir. And please 
believe that we are very sorry. It is — 
what shall I say ? — what we call here kismet, 
fate. If you had not chanced to notice that 
basket, if you had not taken it down and 
examined it, nothing would have happened." 

" What have I to do with that ? " burst 
out Michael. " Is it my fault if you put 
baskets where people can see them and then 
go away ? Am I responsible for your care- 
lessness ? " 

" Your question, sir, is, unfortunately, 
most just ; but that is a part of the kismet 
— that, having been careless ourselves, we 
are obliged to make you pay for it." 

" Well, how am I going to pay ? " de- 
manded Michael. " Spend the rest of my 
life in here ? " 

The antiquity man hesitated before 

" Yes, sir," he said at last, softly. And 
he added : " Will you have vour coffee 
now ? " 

Michael could hardly take it in. What 
did the fellow mean ? Then something in the 
way the antiquity man looked at him made 
him remember about the coffee — that it 
would not keep him awake. For the life 
of him he could not help looking down at it. 
How was it that he didn't happen to drink 
it when they first brought it in ? And if he 

had He stared at the stuff in its pretty 

silver holder. Behind it something bright 
caught a flicker from the candle — a knife in 
the porter's girdle. Why not ? They all 
carried them. Yet his eye travelled to the 
pocket of the dark young man by the door. 
All of a sudden Michael knew as well as if he 
saw it that there was a revolver in that 
pocket, and that the young man had his finger 
on the trigger. Michael's eyes travelled on, 
up to the eyes of the young man, to the eyes 
of them all. What strange, glistening, dark 
eyes they all had, too dark to see into ! He 
found all of a sudden that he felt a little cold. 
He was even afraid for a moment that he was 
going to tremble. What really preoccupied 
him, though, was how the thing had happened. 
How could such a thing happen so suddenly ? 
It had all been perfectly simple and natural 
— his work for his firm, his journey > broad, 
his coming to Constantinople, his prowling 
in the bazaars, his happening to buy a gim- 
crack of the antiquity man, his introduction 
to this queer old place, his pawing over those 
broken tiles. It was all so simple. It would, 




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about the men themselves, whom he had 
taken so casually- 

*' Your life, of course,*' the antiquity man 
went on, " is very precious to you. That we 
perfectly understand. While life is seldom 
satis factory , it contains 7 after all, a great 
deal for one still as young as you. And one 
always hopes, often with reason. We ask 
you to believe that we understand that* We 
also ask you to believe that no one of us has 

any personal reason for wishing you harm. 
We excessively regret the necessity of asking 
you to drink that cup of coffee. We shall 
continue all our lives to regret it, Neverthe- 
less, you can perhaps understand that there 
may be reasons why even your life is of less 
moment to us than the possibility of your some 
day forgetting for an instant the promise you 
now so sincerely make. 5 ' 

Michael still saw it. He saw, too, what had 




been growing steadily clearer, that this was 
an antiquity man among antiquity men. 
But what he saw best of all through that 
strange candle-light was a sudden vision of 
the outer sun, out of which he hud stepped 
so lightly. He saw it so vividly that his 
voice had in it a thickness he didn't like. 

41 1 understand. But there arc chances 
and chances. For instance, can a man 
disappear like that, even in Constantinople, 
and no questions be asked ? When 1 fail to 
go back to my hotel to pay my bill, will they 
say nothing ? When I fail to go back to my 
country, will my friends say nothing? 01 
course not. There will be a row. It may 
not be to-morrow } it may not be the next 

sorry that we shall not be able to send them 
back to your family," 

li My money belongs to my firm, not to my 
family/' said Michael. " If you keep it, 
you will tiike not only my life ; but my honour. 
It certainly will not be to your interest to 
prevent them from thinking that I have stolen 
it and run away." 

11 You are right/* said the antiquity man, 
u But I do not need to tell you that human 
actions are usually misunderstood, Even 
you, perhaps, do not understand that our 
own motive is not an interested one. There 
is only One who understands, I may p*int 
out to you j however j that we run the risk of 
suffering from a similar imputation* It will 


da)* — I do not pretend to be a person of 
importance — but sooner or later questions 
will be asked, And sooner or later you will 
have to answer some of them. What will 
you say then ? ,J 

1 We have thought of that," answered the 
antiquity man. " We ran see that if it is 
dangerous to let you go from here, it is also 
dangerous to let others come to look for 
you here ; but by the time they come they 
will at least find no baskets of broken tiles." 
He gave Michael a moment in which to take 
it in. "If the matter he at last traced to us, 
it will be a simple one of robbery and murder. 
For that reason we shall have to keep what- 
ever valuables you may have. We are very 

probably be thought that we have killed you 
for your money. And you must realize that 
in that case I— perhaps all of us — stand an 
excellent chance of following you, wherever 
you go. Hut that chance we take more 
willingly than the other.'' 

He said it simply, without gestures^ without 
airs, Michael could not help seeing it and 
rising to it. He even could not help liking 
the antiquity man. Evidently it was not a 
common affair in which he had happened to 
tangle himself. He saw it, but somehow he 
felt his sense of reality slipping. He had often 
wondered vaguely enough, as one does when 
the sun is warm about one and the end <*f 
life is very'™ off and 1 'incredible, what the 



end of life would be like — how it would come, 
whether he would make a fool of himself. 
But of all the possibilities he had imagined, 
he had never imagined this little stone room 
in Stamhoul and this candle and these 
shadows and these four inscrutable, dark 
faces of men whom he did not know, \Vas he 
making a fool of himself now to say, as he 
did, thickly :■ — 

" Give me your cup of coffee ! " He tried 
to clear his throat. " But you might at least 
tell me first what all this fuss is about. Or 
are you afraid 1 shall tell them in the next 
world ? " 

He saw a light in the antiquity man's eye. 
The old man saw it ton, There ensued a 
Conversation between them, in which the 


young man, his band still in his pocket, joined, 
The porter stood statuesque., with his tray 
of poisoned coffee. Michael, left to himself, 
began to feel his sense of reality come back. 

" Look here/' he said, bf my coffee is getting 

The antiquity man smiled. 

" My friend here " — he pointed to the old 
man — " has made a suggestion. He seems 
to have taken a fancy to you. In fact, I 
may assure you that we are all pleased at the 
way you have received the very disagreeable 
things we have unfortunately had to say to 
you. Some men, in the circumstances, might 
have been abject. You might have begged, 
bribed, wept, fainted, what do I know ? 

We have seen— and we feel sure, as we did 
not at first, that you did not come here on 
purpose to find — -that basket of tiles." 

He narrowed his eyes a little as he looked 
at Michael, making another of his eloquent 
pauses, Michael didn't like it, but he 
couldn't help asking :- - 
+( Well, what is your suggestion ? I5 
*' Are you willing/' asked the antiquity 
man t slowly, *' to change your religion ? ?5 

11 Change my religion ? M echoed Michael, 
uncomprebendingly. '* I'm afraid 1 haven -t 
much religion to change/' 

u Alt the better/' returned the antiquity 
man. lh So it is with most people of intelli- 
gence. If, bow ever ? you were will inn to 
change your religion, if you were also willing 
to change your language, 
your name, your home, 
vour wife even, for ethers 
us different from them as 
can be conceived? if you 
could bring yourself to 
make that sacrifice and 
to become one of us* it 
would not be necessary 
for vou to drink that cup 
of coffee." 

Michael saw it. He 
caught his breath* 

M 1 must ask you to 
decide quickly/ 1 said the 
antiquity man. lfc WY all 
have affairs, and if it 
should become necessary 
for us to answer those 
questions of which you 
spoke, it would be better 
for witnesses to be able 
to say that we were not 
in here too long this 
Michael saw that too. And all the blood 
in him quickened at the chance of life. Life I 
His life had not been such a success, Why 
not wipe the slate clean and start over again ? 
It ironically came to him that Aurora would 
call that romance — to be cornered here like 
a rat in a trap while four men he didn't know 
stared at him with a candle, Hut why, on 
the other hand, should he give in to them ? 
That was cowardice, even if it was irony 
too, to die for what he didn't want and didn't 
believe in. The immensity of the dilemma was 
too much for him. Irresistible force, immov- 
able obstacle — that flashed in consequently 
into his head. Was the lhiht going out ? The 
room grew darker. He tried to clear his throat, 




The antiquity man suddenly reached 
forward, lifted the coffee-cup out of its 
silver holder, and dropped it on the stone 
floor. Michael stared down stupidly at the 
bits of broken porcelain. They were like 
the bits of broken tiles. He wondered if 
his trousers were spattered. 

The young man took his hand out of his 
pocket and opened the door. 

How do I know ? I don't. I only know 
what Michael told me, and that wasn't much. 
He was like that, you know. A good deal 
of it he didn't know himself, and the rest he 
wouldn't tell. And here you want to know 
who and when and where and why ! Lord, 
if you people would only let a man tell his 
story and stop when he is through ! But you 
at least must know that Constantinople has 
been a very lively place for the last ten years. 

I went out there, as I told you. Although 
it was a good while afterward, I saw every- 
body who had seen Michael. Yes, I saw the 
antiquity man too. He even sold me the 
Rhages jar ! But I thought nothing about 
him, and witnesses had seen Michael drive 
away from the door in a closed carriage. 
What no witness had seen was the number 
of the carriage or the door it drove to. I 
came across a story of a carriage driving at 
dusk through the open draw of the bridge, 
and I asked myself if Michael was still sitting 
in it. That version, at any rate, is the one 
now accepted by Aurora. She has given up 
the idea of a tombstone. She sees that it 
isn't every lady who can boast one husband 
at home among the stars and another sitting 
in a brougham at the bottom of the Golden 

So I gave Michael up. And finding myself 
out there it seemed to me a pity, having gone 
so far, not to go farther. I went to Odessa, 
the Crimea, and Batum. And it was worth it. 
I decided to go home by rail, which meant 
that I would be able to tell my great-grand- 
children that I had seen the Caspian. 

I'm afraid I shall have to tell my great- 
grandchildren that the Caspian is very little 
to look at, at least from Baku. It has no 
colour, and it smells outrageously of kerosene. 
Baku, however, is something to look at. 
What a fantastic hodge-podge of civilization 
and barbarism ! 

It's too good to be true, but I sha'n't tell 
you about it. What I want to tell you about 
is a park the Russians have made there on 
the shore of their Caspian. They always do 
those things well, you know. No green thing 
. will grow for miles around Baku, but those 

Russians have coaxed a few trees to sprout 
in tubs in that tidy little park, and bands 
far better than I ever heard in Central P&rk 
play you Tschaikovsky and Rimsky-Korsakof, 
not to say Wagner and Verdi and Bizet. 

Well, I sat there in their park one after- 
noon, sniffing their Caspian, tapping my foot 
in time to their " Glinka," when I suddenly 
made two discoveries. The first was that that 
coon-song we used to sing when we were young 
— " Lou, Lou, I love you " — came out of 
" Life for the Czar." The other was that 
Michael was looking at me. But what a 
Michael ! Moustached, sunburned, long- 
coated, high-booted, strangely capped, with a 
gaudy dagger stuck in his belt ! I knew him, 
for I was thinking about him. I grinned. 

Michael grinned too. 

" I thought you were going to be melo- 
dramatic," he said, " and call on your 
Creator and make a row generally. As it 
is, let's have a chat." 

We had a chat. The smell of kerosene 
always reminds me of that chat. At the 
time I thought it the most interesting chat I 
ever had. That was before I proposed to Mary. 

" I suppose they think I took the money, 
eh ? " Michael finally asked. 

" Yes," I said. " They think you took it." 

" H'm ! I've made it up to them without 
their knowing it. So that's all right. And 
Aurora ? " 

I told him about Aurora. He was longer 
with his " H'm ! " that time. Do you know, 
I believe the fellow was human enough to 
be jealous of an astrologer whom he didn't 
envy! However, he ended by throwing out 
another " So that's all right." 

" And you ? " I permitted myself to ask. 

He didn't answer at first. He sat there 
playing with the handle of his dagger and 
staring at the dirty green of the Caspian. 

" How's a man to know whether he's all 
right or all wrong ? " he said, at last. " I 
know I'm alive, at any rate, and I can't say 
I'm sorry. In fact, I don't believe I ever 
knew it before. I own an oil-well and cattle 
on a thousand hills. On one of them I have 
a house to live in and a horse to ride and a 
wife to beat. I do it, too. I've learned that 
much," he pronounced, darkly. " And I have 
a kid. Great boy ! He doesn't know a word 
of English, and he never will. So I shall never 
go back. I could now, if I wanted to. But 
once in a while," added Michael, inconse- 
quently enough, " I come down here to listen 
to the band." 

Now, can you imagine a man being like 
that ^ 


Stranger Than Fiction. 



Illustrated by Dudley Tennant. 


X mid- Victorian days a form 
of fiction flourished which 
was generally supposed to be 
written specially for a clientele 
largely composed of work-girls 
and domestic servants. 
These romances were pub- 
lished in serial form in certain popular penny 
periodicals, and a humorist of the day gave 
it as his opinion that one title would have 
covered the whole of the stories. The title 
the humorist suggested was u From Pantry 
to Palace." 

The author of these stories almost invari- 
ably introduced us to the young and beautiful 
heroine — she was always young and beauti- 
ful — when her circumstances were of the 
lowliest. He then subjected her to various 
sensational and romantic vicissitudes, and 
in the last chapter brought her triumphantly 
to the matrimonial altar, the blushing bride 
of the handsome young gentleman who had 
been true to her in sunshine and storm. 

This handsome young gentleman never 
earned his living in any of the ordinary ways 
because he was of noble blood, a fact which, 
as a rule, he only revealed to his adored one 
when at the end of the honeymoon he con- 
ducted her to the ancestral halls of which 
she was henceforward to be the proud and 
happy mistress. 

But the boldest writer of this school would 
have hesitated to have presented his heroine 
to us as a princess in the first chapter and left 
her a waitress in the last. His readers would 
unhesitatingly accept as possible the story 
" From Pantry to Palace/' but find it difficult 
to accept as true the story of a. heroine who 
passed " From Palace to Pantry." 

Yet that is what happened. Princess 
Maria Gaetana Pignatelli, having been born 
in a palace and near the throne, became a 
barmaid at the Folies - Berg£re in Paris, 
and later on a waitress at a restaurant in 

When the Princess was quite a little girl 
her mother, then a widow, became the wife 

of the Duke of Reggina, who was at the time 
the Sicilian Ambassador at the Court of Czar 
Alexander H. 

The Duchess was one of the most beautiful 
women at the Russian Court. The Czar 
presented her with a diamond bracelet of 
great value, and Count Gortchakoiff was one 
of her devoted admirers. 

In 1870 the Princess and her mother were 
in Paris during the siege, and on September 
9th, when the guns were thundering at the 
gates of the city, the Princess and her family 
decided to leave. 

That was not an easy thing to do. All 
railway communications were cut eff. No 
carriage could be obtained, and, had one 
been available, there would have been the 
risk of falling into the hands of the Germans. 
There was only one way in which the family 
could travel, and that was by balloon. 

An attache of the Russian Embassy inter- 
ested himself on their behalf, and persuaded 
some military friends to take the Princess, 
her mother, her sister, and her sister's fianct 
— a distinguished nobleman — into the car. 

At five o'clock on September 9th the balloon 
ascended from the besieged city. The little 
party landed safely in a village not far from 
Tours, and then they made their way to Calais, 
crossed to Dover, and reached London, where 
the marriage of the Princess's sister took 

After some years of adventure and romance 
the Princess was again in Paris, and in the 
Ville Lumiire she found herself a guest at 
the house of her brother-in-law, who had 
inherited from his father a fortune of several 

Here she met a wealthy Swedish nobleman 
who proposed to her, and at the wish of her 
family the "Princess became his wife. The 
marriage was not a happy one. 

Some time afterwards the Princess accepted 
an engagement to sing at the Scala Theatre 
in Paris, and was advertised in advance as 
" The Beautiful Princess Pignatelli." 

The engagement proved a disastrous one, 




The beautiful Princess was hissed off the 
stage. She herself attributed her defeat as 
an artiste to " organized opposition " pro- 
moted and financed by her wealthy relatives. 

A year or two after her unpleasant experi- 
ence at the Scala she appeared for a short 
time as a lion-tamer at a circus show. 

Eventually the Princess, who had failed 
to make an impression on the stage, found 
her sphere of usefulness in the front of the 
house, and for some time she was an attendant 
at one of the bars at the back of the Folies- 
Berg£re promenade, and then she became a 
waitress at the Maison Rouge in Vienna. 

Among the clients of the Maison Rouge 
was a young man who came in late at night 
after the other guests had left. He wore a 
short, fair beard, his soft hair was parted in 
a military manner, and his face wore an 
expression of high intelligence. As a rule 
he was silent, drank his wine, and sometimes 
heaved a deep sigh. This young man was 
Rudolph, Crown Prince of Austria. 

One night the Princess served him with a 
bottle of wine. He sat and chatted with her, 
and in the course of conversation ascertained 
who she was. The Crown Prince was sympa- 
thetic, and always after that when he came 
to the restaurant he arranged that the Princess 
should be his waitress. 

One night, as she left the restaurant to go 
to her humble lodging, the Prince asked 
if he might accompany her a part of the 

They strolled along the banks of the Danube 
and conversed as they went. 

As they were walking along the Prince 
suddenly stopped and, pointing with a sombre 
look to the calm water, said, " Look, Princess ; 
a leap down there and all pain is over ; but 
I am not even allowed to do that ; I have 
duties, great duties, and I must fulfil them. 
To die, to die and to be at rest, to end a 
ruined life — that, believe it, Princess, that is 
best. An indescribable restlessness drives me 
on ; I strive after an indefinable thing ; I 
feel as if it were the rolling globe which I try 
to catch. I am full of envy, miserable envy. 
I envy the sun because he sends out his 
million rays ; I envy the beggar who asks for 
a copper, but who is free — free ; I envy you, 
Princess, because you have torn yourself 
away from conventional ties which bind us 
hand and foot. I have sought you out to 
see whether you repent ; whether you long 
to go back to the social slavery ; but no, 
you do not. Your indifference is divine ; 
for, believe me, it is not the strong and not 
the mighty, but the indifferent who enjoy 

life! It is for this reason that death, which 
is the perfection of indifference, is the 
greatest boon." 

In February, 1889, the Crown Prince was 
found dead at his hunting-box at Meyerling, 
near Vienna, in circumstances which pointed 
eitlver to suicide or murder. Though many 
attempts to solve the mystery have been 
made, and though many more or less well- 
known people have claimed to write with 
accurate knowledge, the true story of the 
Imperial tragedy has probably yet to be told. 

Nothing that fiction has given us is stranger* 
than the facts of the life stories of the heir 
to the Austrian throne and the restaurant 
waitress who conversed confidentially one 
moonlight night as they walked by the 
Danube river. 

In the early 'eighties there was a strange 
figure occasionally to be seen in the streets 
of London. It was one morning as I was on 
my way to the Mansion House Police-court 
to hear a case in which I was interested that 
I came suddenly upon a tall, elderly man with 
a long white beard, and on his head the skin 
of a fox arranged something like a turban, 
with the brush and ears of the animal showing 
prominently. Beneath this headgear the man's 
long white hair, which was plaited, fell almost 
to his waist. This strange figure was clad in 
a white tunic and wore trousers of a bright 

Extraordinary as was the old man's appear- 
ance he was not followed by a crowd. The 
passers-by seemed, to use a colloquialism, 
too much taken aback by the extraordinary 
spectacle to do more than stare. 

I stared, too, and was about to pass on 
my way when I met a policeman who was 
intently gazing at the slowly disappearing 

" Do you know who that is ? " I said. 
" Have you ever seen him before ? " 

" Oh, yes," replied the officer. " I've seen 
him once or twice lately. I'm told that he's 
a Welsh physician named Dr. Price, and he 
dresses like that because he is the chief of 
the Druids, or something of that sort. He 
must be a bit touched in the upper storey, 
I should think, to wear a fox-skin on it." 

I went on my way thoughtfully. I was 
writing a novel at the time, and I wondered 
if I were to introduce an elderly Druid in 
full costume into an everyday scene in 
Cheapside what my readers would think 
of me. 

It was in the winter of 1883 that I met the 
Druid in London. On a Sunday night in 



J 3 


January, 1884, flames were suddenly seen on 
the summit of a Glamorgan hill. 

A police-sergeant, accompanied by a small 
crowd, set out to climb to the top of the hill, 
in order to discover what was the meaning 
of this sudden conflagration. 

When the summit was gained the officer 
and the people who accompanied him were 

astonished to sec an aged man attired as 
a Druid, with his long white hair streaming 
in the wind, making strange signs and uttering 
strange sounds by a funeral pyre. 

Laid out across the top of a blazing tar- 
barrel, from which the flames were leaping, 
was the body of a child, and the aged Uruid 
was performing a Druldical funeral sendee 




ever the remains as the cremation proceeded. 
The crowd rushed at the burning altar and 
extinguished the flames, and but for the timely 
arrival of more police there would have been 
some difficulty in saving the ancient Druid 
from the fury of the mob. 

When he was safe in custody he informed the 
police that their action in arresting him was 
quite illegal. The child he was cremating and 
about to bury with Druidical rites was his 
owr daughter. She had died a natural death 
and had been carefully attended by him to 
the last. His name was Dr. Price, and he was 
a member of the Royal College of Surgeons. 

At the coroner's inquest, which was held 
on what remained of the body of the child on 
the following day, Dr. Price entered into 
further details. 

He was a Druid of high degree, and since 
he came to man's estate he had always 
followed the Druidical ritual. 

The coroner's jury, after hearing the medical 
evidence, agreed that the child had died 
a natural death, but the authorities were not 
inclined to let the ancient Druid go. 

On the following day he was charged at 
Pontypridd Police-court with attempting to 
dispose of the remains of his offspring in an 
illegal manner. 

Dr. Price appeared before the magistrate 
clad in his white tunic, his green trousers, 
and his fox-skin headgear, and he entered 
the dock accompanied by a large dog, which 
during the proceedings kept a watchful eye 
on the magistrate, evidently suspecting his 
intentions with regard to his master. 

The illustrious Druid contended that he 
had committed no offence, and he produced 
a burial certificate which had been granted 
to him by another doctor. 

He explained that so far as practicable he 
always applied the ancient rites of the Druids 
to his family affairs. His eldest daughter, the 
"Countess of Glamorgan," who was now 
thirty years of age, had been christened by 
him at the old Druids' stone, which still 
remained on the hill near Pontypridd. 

He was not a lunatic or anything of that 
sort, but a skilled and experienced medical 
man, Dr. Price, M.R.C.S., of " Bart's " and 
the London Hospital, and he had a right to 
christen or to bury his children according to 
his own religious belief. 

The Court eventually settled the matter 
by allowing Dr. Price to go on condition that 
he agreed to have his little daughter * buried 
in the conventional manner by the local 
undertaker, and with the usual religious 
ceremony at the graveside. 

The doctor, after instructing the Court at 
some length in the ancient mysteries of 
Druidism, accepted the offer, bowed, and 
retired, followed by his faithful hound, which 
was said to be one of a large pack which he 
had specially trained as a bodyguard during 
his Druidical excursions and midnight in- 
cantations in the ancient temples of the 
Druids, some few stones of which still re- 
mained on various parts of the Welsh hills. 

Some little time after the doctor had won 
notoriety by his performance at the funeral 
pyre of his child I met him again in London. 
He still wore his Druid dress, and in spite of 
his eighty-five years was striding along buoy- 
antly through the staring London crowd, and 
with the elastic step of youth. 

Famous novelists have woven their 
romances around Kings and Queens in exile, 
and the vicissitudes of Royal personages have 
inspired the fictionists of many lands. But 
in none of the romances that I can recall has 
the author ventured to present his readers 
with the sister of a reigning Sovereign living 
in poor lodgings in a mean street and earning 
her bread and that of her little ones by giving 
cheap lessons in her own language. 

Yet in a mean street in Berlin there lived 
a little more than thirty years ago a Royal 
lady in dire distress. 

The Sultan of Zanzibar in those days had 
a beautiful sister. A German merchant doing 
business in Zanzibar met her, and fell in love 
with her. The Sultan's sister returned his 

The Princess was so madly in love with 
the German merchant that she flung herself 
at the feet of her brother and implored him 
to consent to her marriage with the man of 
her choice. But the Sultan of Zanzibar was 
horrified at the idea of having a Christian 
merchant as his brother-in-law, and he caused 
a delicate hint to be conveyed to the German 
gentleman that the methods of the monarchs 
whose adventures had been related in " The 
Arabian Nights " still remained practicable 
in the unchanging East. 

The German merchant knew that the only 
safe thing for him to do was to get out of 
Zanzibar as quickly as possible, but he deter- 
mined not to leave his beloved Princess 
behind him. 

He got a message conveyed to her by a 
trusty messenger that on a certain date he 
would be leaving Zanzibar by a German ship, 
and he implored her to make her escape and 
accompany him to the Fatherland. 

The sister cf the Sultan agreed, and one 



night she made her escape from her brother's 
palace, joined the German merchant at the 
psychological moment , and they quickly 
put the seas between themselves and 

They reached Germany safely, and there 
they were married and lived happily for 

some years in Hamburg, where three children 
were born. The love of the Sultan's sister 
never waned, but fortune was fickle, and the 
German merchant fell on evil days. Then 
his health broke down and he died. 

After his death the Sultan's beautiful 
sister found hgiwtfl flGBTeat poverty. She 




went into humble lodgings, and in order to 
earn the rent and a little food for herself 
and her children she gave lessons in Arabic. 
But there were not very many people in 
Hamburg who wanted to learn Arabic, and 
the position grew very serious indeed. 

Then the Princess managed to get together 
sufficient money to take a little journey by 

She went to Berlin and obtained an audience 
with the Turkish Ambassador, flung herself 
at his feet after the Eastern fashion, and 
implored him to procure for a royal daughter 
of Islam the protection of the Sultan of 

The Ambassador was very polite to the 
Princess, but he explained that it would be 
quite impossible for the Commander of the 
Faithful to interfere in the family affairs of 
the Sultan of Zanzibar. The Sultan of 
Zanzibar was a reigning Sovereign, and 
must be treated as such. 

The Princess retired heart-broken, but in 
some way the affair came to the ears of 
Bismarck. He had at that time conceived 
the idea of sending some German warships 
to Zanzibar. 

He invited the Princess to call upon him, 
told her that he was very sorry for her, 
and would, if she wished it, send her 
and her children to Zanzibar on one of the 
German warships, and place her and her 
cause in the special charge of Admiral Knorr, 
who would be the commander-in-chief of the 

He would also request the Admiral to 
claim the Royal protection for her as a German 
subject. And so the Sultan's sister returned 
to her native land, and as a subject of the 
Kaiser was courteously received by her 
brother, the Sultan, who agreed to forgive 
his sister for having given him a Christian 
merchant for a brother-in-law. He completed 
his act of forgiveness by placing rooms in 
the palace at the disposal of his sister, his 
little German nephew, and his little German 
nieces. That is the story of the Sultan of 
Zanzibar's sister, who lived in a garret in 
Hamburg and kept herself and her children 
from the workhouse by giving lessons in 

We all remember Mr. Anstey's clever story 
of " Vice Versa," and some of us remember 
the screaming farcical comedy which was .an 
adaptation from the book. 

No one accepted the story as anything but 
a clever bit of topsy-turvydom by a brilliant 
humorist. But stranger far than the fiction 

of the humorist were the facts which we " 
revealed before the* Manchester County Cou — m 
Judge, Mr. J. A. Russell, Q.C., when a schoo" 
master of Higher Hardwick sought to recov« 
the sum of eight guineas from a gentlema 
residing in Manchester. The claim was ft 
one quarter's fees in lieu of notice. 

When the defendant was called a gentlema 
aged sixty, with a bald head and long whi- 
beard, appeared in the witness-box. Tl 
gentleman of sixty was the pupil who 
behaviour had brought him to the Count 
Court. He had been a naughty boy, an 
after attending school for a short time, 1 
had run away. 

Quite seriously the schoolmaster told h 
story. The bad boy of sixty had applied ' 
him for admission to his school, and hf 
brought with him a letter from his uncle. 

The uncle urged the schoolmaster to tal 
his nephew Tom, whose father, then abros 
in Africa, from which place Master Tom he 
recently arrived, had expressed a desire th; 
the boy, whose education had been neglectc 
should be sent to a good middle-class scho 
where the birch would be liberally applied. 

Tom, the uncle stated, was only fiftec 
but he appeared to be an elderly man. Tl 
boy of fifteen had been made to look old t 
the application of a liquid. 

Having read uncle's letter, and receive 
an assurance from Master Tom, the fifteei 
year-old boy who looked like an elder! 
gentleman, that he was anxious to beconr 
a schoolboy, the schoolmaster agreed to tak 
him and educate him among the other pupil 

But the new pupil was a bad boy from tt 
first. He would not learn his lessons, h 
squirted the other boys with ink, he drc 
caricatures of the master in his copybool 
and he kicked vigorously and used ba 
language when he was flogged. 

After a second whipping the bald-headec 
white-bearded bad boy ran away froi 
school and sought refuge with some frienc 
instead of returning to his uncle's house. 

The judge, after hearing the evidence an* 
reading the extraordinary correspondence 
said that either the defendant was mad o 
the plaintiff had been the victim of a hug 
joke, and he strongly advised the school 
master to withdraw his claim. 

The schoolmaster, after consulting with hi 
solicitor, accepted the advice. 

None of the remarkable incidents imagine* 
by Mr. Anstey in " Vice Versa " were as extra 
ordinary as the facts which were stated 01 
oath and substantiated by documents in i 
court of justice in the city of Manchester. 






E was rosy- faced and awkward. 
He had grown so fast that all 
his clothes were too short and 
too tight. He was twenty (the 
age of youthful follies), but 
in spite of this he was calm 
and mild beyond expression. 
)h, so calm and mild ! Surely no calmer 
►erson walked the earth than this big, blond 
oung man from Luxembourg. 
His name was Jean Broggaert, I had 
jromised to find a post for him in Paris, 
m<\ as soon as he arrived I sent him to the 
iffice of my friend Papillon* 

Papillon was alone in his room. Jean 
BroggaeH took off his hat. 

k X am the young man, sir, who has been 
recommended to you. I have come— -*•*' 

11 Bless my soul/' cried Papillon , bursting 
in, " I can see you're not ninety. What's 
the use of telling me you're a young man ? 
Do you think I'm blind ? Well, what do 
ynu want ? n 
* l I have come for — I have come from — ■ 

pardon me, I have a letter here " 

11 A letter ? Ha ! What do you take me 

for ? A lunatic ? Do you think 1 can't tell 
a letter from a sack of coals ? I can sec it's a 
letter well enough. Give it to me and hold 
your tongue* You would do well to think 
before you speak. Now, state your business/ 1 

11 I hope I shall be able to suit you, sir. 
Vour firm is -" 

vol. HL-ft by vi O O O I K 

"What's that? What's that about my 
firm? Come, speak up; I'm waiting. Juit 
let me hear your opinion of my firm." 

" I believe, sir, that your firm ,j 

" What ? What ? What's that you're 
saying? Out with it ! Don't shilly-shally! 
Don't beat about the bush with me, sir ! 
What is it you believe about my firm ? " 

" I ask nothing better than to give you 
satisfaction, sir, but perhaps you do not 
quite understand M 

" I am a bom fool, then ? " 

' No, sir, 1 had no intention of saying such 
a thing, but 1 think you may be making " 

" Ah ! very good. You're trying to annoy 
me now. I was certain you would come to 
that , for all that you look like a nincompoop, a 
ninny* But you can't frighten me, I have 
served in the Crimea, sir- Have you served 
in the Crimea ? Not you. You haven't the 
makings of a mouse about you. Understand, 
I allow no man to play the fool with me, sir. 
My name's Papillon — Aristide Papillon/' 

4< But, my dear sir, I assure you you are 
under a mistake. I think—" 

" Think ? Think I'm making a mistake. 
Why not say at once I'm an impostor ? 
Take care what you're saying, my lad. The 
police are not far off, remember." 

" I have no wish to offend you, sir. I 
:ome from Mr. Auriol " 

l " Mr. Auriol is a friend of mine, sir. Not a 
word against him. I shall not allow a scamp, 
a booby, to utter a word against my friend 
Auriol in my presence ; not a syllable of 
any sort or kind." 

14 Mr, Auriol has given me *' 

" He has given you nothing. It is a false- 

" He has handed me a letter for vcu." 

<( A letter? Where is it?" 

11 On your desk, sir." 

" That's enough ! I know how to manage 
my own business. I never allow anyone except 
myself to touch my desk. Remember that ! 
Lei's see this loQnqJVi fctftlxsPfftf it*) +< Ah, you 




have come to look for a 
clerk's place ? " 
4t Exactly so, sin" 
*' Then why nut say so 
before, instead of standing 
chattering like a monkey? 
You have nearly made me 
deaf. 1 hate boasters. So 
take care/' (Silence.) "Ah, 
you change your tone now, 
do you ? None too soon. 
Here, sit down, I'll tell you 
direct I v what vou'll have 
to do." 

With these words Papillon 
left his office to give some 
directions to his cashier, I 
entered at this moment. 

but j not seeing him^ was 
about to take my departure 
when my eyes fell on my 
protigij sitting in a corner 
with his hat upon his knees. 

"Well/' I said, -have 
you got the job ? " 

" Yes* sir. 1 am starting 
work to-day, I think." 

" And how do you think 
you'll g£t on with Mr, 
Papillon ? w 

L1 Qh, excellently/' replied 
the calm young man from 
Luxembourg, " Excellently* 
I have only seen him for 
five minutes* hui he seemed 
very nice and kind J* 



The scene is a 

pure stvle 

in t ii e 
of Louis 
A place 
of date, 

more out 

m ore w oebegone * is 
beyond the reach of 
dreams* The tables, 
of yellow marble, 
stand in line, with- 
out a customer. In 
the background an 
antique billiard- table 
gives the impression 
of a mildewed cata- 
falque* while the 
three balls, even the 
red one, of the same 
yellow colour as the 
tables, w ear the 
appearance of frag- 
ments of forgotten 
bones* In one corner 
a group of customers 
are playing a never- 
ending game of 
dominoes, their 
fingers and their 
pieces rattling like 
skeletons. At the 
counter, behind the 
old-world cordials 
and syrups, sits the 
land lady j a dry and 

m ela n c h ol y per s o n T 
with long " weepers " 
of the same yellow as 
the tables and the 
balls. The waiter, a 
bald-headed old man, 
roams about the 
vacant tables like a 
soul in pain. 

Enter three young 
people who have evi- 
dently missed their 

They are received 
with hostile glances 
by the domino- 
players and the 
waiter. Only the 
landlady at the 
counter conjures up 
a withered smile. 
The new - comers, 
somewhat taken aback by the cold- 
ness <if their surroundings, take 
their seats. Suddenly one of them 
advances to the counter. 

lb Madame/' he says ; with the 
most exquisite politeness, ** it may 
turn out that we shall die of 
laughing in your establishment. If 
such an accident occurs, it will be 
vttv kind of you to send our bodies 
to_our respective families* Here 
a*Q r Ai^Mfets*" 





The Inside Story of the War. 





(Stage 1.— The Gas Attack, April 22nd-30th.) 

Situation at Ypres — The Poison Gas — The Canadian Ordeal— The Fight 

in the Wood of St. Julien — The French Recovery — Miracle Days — The 

Glorious Indians — The Northern (Fiftieth Division) Territorials — Hard 

Fighting— The Net Result— Loss of Hill 60. 

Mr ^T| m % 

T will be remembered that the 
northern line of the Ypres 
position, extending from Steen- 
straate to Langemarck, with 
Pilken somewhat to the south 
of the centre, had been estab- 
lished and held by the British 
during the fighting of October 
21st, 22nd, and 23rd. Later, when the pressure 
upon the British to the east and -south became 
excessive, the French took over this section. 
The general disposition of the Allies at the 22 nd 
of April was as follows. 

The Belgians still held the flooded Yser Canal 
up to the neighbourhood of Bixschoote. There 
the line was carried on by the French Fighth 
Army, now commanded by General Putz in the 
place of General d'Urbal. His troops seem to 
have been all either Colonial or Territorial, two 
classes which had frequently shown the utmost 
gallantry, but were less likely to meet an un- 
expected danger with steadiness than the regular 
Infantry of the line. These formations held the 

Copyright 1 1916, 

trenches from Bixschoote on the canal to the 
Ypres-Poelcapelle road, two thousand yards 
east of Langemarck, on the right. At this 
point they joined on to Plumer's Fifth Corps in 
the following order, the Canadian Division, 
Twenty-eighth and Twenty-seventh British 
Divisions, forming a line which passed a mile 
north of Zonnebeke, curling round south outside 
the Polygon Wood to the point where the Fifth 
Division of the Second Corps kept their iron 
grip upon Hill 60. The average distance from 
Ypres to all these various lines would be about 
five miles. Smith-Dorrien, as commander of 
the Second Army, was general warden of all 
this district. 


Up to the third week of April the enemy 
opposite the French had consisted of the Twenty- 
sixth Corps, with the Fifteenth Corps on the 
right, all under the Duke of Wurtembcrg, whose 
headquarters were at Thielt. There were signs, 
however, of secret concentration which had not 

b V a. const. W'iJTY OF MK HIGAN 



entirely escaped the observation of the Allied 
aviators, and on April 20th and 21st the German 
guns showered shells on Ypres. About 5 p.m. 
upon Thursday, April 22nd, a furious artillery 
bombardment from Bixschoote to Langemarck, 
including the left of the Canadians, began along 
the French lines, and it was reported that the 
Forty-fifth French Division was being heavily 
attacked. At the same time a phenomenon was 
observed which would seem to be more in place 
in the pages of a romance than in the record of an 
historian. From the base of the German trenches 
over a considerable length there appeared jets 
of whitish vapour, which gathered and swirled 
until they settled into a definite low cloud-bank, 
greenish-brown below and yellow above, where 
it reflected the rays of the sinking sun. This 
ominous bank of vapour, impelled by a northern 
breeze, drifted swiftly across the space which 
separated the two lines. The French troops, 
staring over the top of their parapet at this 
curious screen which ensured them a temporary 
relief from fire, were observed suddenly to throw 
up their hands, to clutch at their throats, and 
to fall to the ground in the agonies of asphyxia- 
tion. Many lay where they had fallen, while 
their comrades, absolutely helpless against this 
diabolical agency, rushed madly out of the 
mephitic mist and made for the rear, over- 
running the lines of trenches behind them. 
Many of them never halted until they had reached 
Ypres, while others rushed westwards and put 
the canal between themselves and the enemy. 
The Germans, meanwhile, advanced in the rear 
of their own characteristic vanguard, and took 
possession of the successive lines of trenches, 
tenanted only by the dead garrisons, whose 
blackened faces, contorted figures, and lips 
fringed with the blood and foam from their 
bursting lungs, showed the agonies in which 
they had died. Some thousands of stupefied 
prisoners, eight batteries of French field-guns, 
and four British 47's, which had been placed 
in a wood behind the French position, were the 
trophies won by this disgraceful victory. The 
British heavy guns belonged to the Second 
London Division, and were not deserted by their 
gunners until the enemy's infantry were close 
upon them, when the strikers were removed from 
the breech -blocks and the pieces abandoned. 

By seven o'clock the French had left the Lange- 
marck district, had passed over the higher ground 
about Pilken, and had crossed the canal towards 
Brielen. Under the shattering blow which they 
had received, a blow particularly demoralizing 
to African troops, with their fears of magic and 
the unknown, it was impossible to rally them 
effectually until the next day. It is to be 
remembered in explanation of this disorganiza- 
tion that it was the first experience of these 
poison tactics, and that the troops engaged 
received the gas in a very much more severe 
form than our own men on the right of 
Langemarck. For a time there was a gap five 
miles broad in the front of the position of the 
Allies, and there were many hours during which 
there was no substantial force between the 
Germans and Ypres. They wasted their time, 

however, in consolidating their ground, and the 
chance of a great coup passed for ever. They 
had sold their souls as soldiers, but the Devil's 
price was a poor one. 


A portion of the German force, which had 
passed through the gap left by the retirement 
of the French, moved eastwards in an endeavour 
to roll up the Canadian line, the flank of which 
they had turned. Had they succeeded in doing 
this the situation would have become most 
dangerous, as they would have been to the rear 
of the whole of the Fifth Army Corps. General 
Alderson, commanding the Canadians, took 
instant measures to hold his line. On the exposed 
flank were the 13th (Royal Highlanders) and 15th 
(48th Highlanders), both of the Third Brigade. 
To the right of these were the 8th Canadians and 
5th Canadians in the order named. The attack 
developed along two- thirds of a front of five 
thousand yards, but was most severe upon the 
left, where it had become a flank as well as a 
frontal assault ; but in spite of the sudden and 
severe nature, of the action, the line held splen- 
didly firm. Any doubt as to the quality of 
our Canadian troops — if any such doubt had 
existed — was set at rest for ever, for they met 
the danger with a joyous and disciplined 
alacrity. General Turner, who commanded the 
Third Brigade upon the left, extended his men 
to such an extent that, while covering his original 
front, he could still throw back a line several 
thousand yards long to the south-west and so 
prevent the Germans breaking through. By 
bending and thinning his line in this fashion 
he obviously formed a vulnerable salient which 
was furiously attacked by the Germans by shell 
and rifle fire, with occasional blasts of their 
hellish gas, which lost something of its effective- 
ness through the direction of the wind. The 
Canadian guns, swinging round from north to 
west, were pouring shrapnel into the advancing 
masses at a range of two hundred yards with 
fuses set at zero, while the infantry without 
trenches fired so rapidly and steadily that the 
attack recoiled from the severity of the punish- 
ment. The British 11 8th and 365th Batteries 
did good work in holding back this German 

Two reserve battalions had been brought up 
in hot haste from Ypres to strengthen the left 
of the line. These were the 16th (Canadian 
Scottish) and the 10th Canadians. Their 
advance was directed against the wood to the 
west of St. Julien, in which lay the four great 
guns which, as already described, had fallen 
into the hands of the Germans. Advancing 
about midnight by the light of the moon, these 
two brave regiments, under Colonels Leckie and 
Boyle, rushed at the wood (which the Germans 
had already entrenched) and carried it at the 
point of the bayonet after a furious hand-to- 
hand struggle. Following at the heels of the 
flying Germans, they drove them ever deeper 
into the recesses of the wood, where there loomed 
up under the trees th£ huge bulk of the captured 
guns. For a time they were oiice again in 



British hands, but there was no possible means 
of removing them, so that the Canadians had 
to be content with satisfying themselves that 
they were unserviceable. For some time the 
Canadians held the whole of the wood, but 
Colonel Leckie, who was in command, found 
that there were Germans on each side of him and 
no supports. It was clear, since he was already 
a thousand yards behind the German line, that he 
would be cut off in the morning. With quick 
decision he withdrew unmolested through the 
wood, and occupied the German trenches at the 
south end of it. Colonel Boyle lost his life in 
this very gallant advance, which may truly be 
said to have saved the situation, since it engaged 
the German attention and gave time for re- 
inforcements to arrive. 

With the dawn it became of most pressing 
importance to do something to lessen, if not to 
fill, the huge gap which yawned between the 
left of the Canadians and the canal, like a great 
opsn door five miles wide leading into Ypres. 
Troops were already streaming north at the call 
of Smith-Dorrien from all parts of the British 
lines, but the need was quick and pressing. The 
Canadian First Brigade, which had been in 
reserve, was thrown into the broad avenue down 
which the German army was pouring. The 
four battalions of General Mercer's Brigade— 
the ist (Ontario), 4th, 2nd, and 3rd (Toronto) — 
advanced south of Pilken. Nearer still to St. 
Julien was the wood, which was still fringed by 
their comrades of the 10th and the 16th, while 
to the east of St. Julien the remaining six 
battalions of Canadians were facing north-east- 
wards to hold up the German advance from that 
quarter, with their flank turned north-west to 
prevent the force from being taken in the rear. 
Of these six battalions the most northern 
was the 13th Royal Canadian Highlanders, and 
it was on the unsupported left flank of this 
regiment that the pressure was most severe, as 
the Germans were in the French trenches along- 
side them, and raked them with their machine- 
guns without causing them to leave their position, 
which was the pivot of the whole line. 


Gradually, out of the chaos and confusion, 
the facts of the situation began to emerge, and 
in the early morning of April 23rd Smith- 
Dorrien at Ypres and French in the south saw 
clearly how great an emergency they had to meet 
and what forces they had with which to meet it. 
The prospect at first sight was appalling if it 
were handled by men who allowed themselves 
to be appalled. It was known now that the 
Germans bad not only broken a five-mile gap 
in the line and penetrated two miles into it, but 
that they had taken Steenstraate, had forced 
the canal, had taken Lizerne upon the farther 
side, and had descended the eastern side as far 
south as Boesinghe. At that time it became 
known, to the great relief of the British generals, 
that the left of the Canadian First Brigade, which 
had been thrown out, was in touch with six French 
battalions — much exhausted by their terrible 
experience — on the east bank of the canal, about 

a mile south-east of Boesinghe. From that 
moment the situation began to mend, for it had 
become clear where the reinforcements which 
were now coming to hand should be applied. A 
line had been drawn across the gap, and it only 
remained to stiffen and to hold it, while taking 
steps to modify and support the salient in the 
St. Julien direction, where a dangerous angle 
had been created by the new hasty rearrange- 
ment of the Canadian line. 

At about the same hour most welcome rein- 
forcements had arrived in the region of the gap. 
These consisted of three and a half battalions of 
the Twenty-eighth Division, the 2nd East Kent 
(Buffs), 3rd Middlesex, less two companies who 
were guarding a bridge on the canal, 2nd Royal 
Lancasters, and the ist York and Lancaster- 
all under Colonel Geddes, of the Buffs. These 
troops, together with the 2nd East Yorkshires, 
were placed under the Canadian commander. The 
Thirteenth Brigade, much reduced and wearied 
by its terrific exertions upon Hill 60, were held 
back at Brielen, one mile west of Ypres, in 
reserve, while three and a half battalions of 
the Twenty-seventh Division were in corps 
reserve near Potijze. These were the 4th Rifle 
Brigade, 2nd Corn walls, 2nd Shropshires (half), 
and 9th Royal Scots. It is to be remembered 
that both the Twenty-seventh and Twenty- 
eighth Divisions were still holding their own 
extended lines of position, which might at any 
moment be swept by a devastating attack, and 
that in turning their reserves towards the north 
they were like a bank which transfers money to a 
neighbour at the moment when it has to face a 
run upon its own resources. But the times were 
recognized as being desperate, and any risk 
must be run to keep the Germans out of Ypres 
and to hold the line until further help could come 
from the south. 

Among other expedients a single battalion — 
the ist Royal Irish, under Colonel Gloster — was 
pushed forward in a gallant holding attack 
towards St. Julien, all by itself, losing one third 
of its numbers, but delaying the advance for 
some precious hours. 

In the afternoon of the 23rd those of the 
French troops who had escaped the gas attack 
advanced gallantly to recover some of their 
ground, and their movement was shared by the 
Canadian troops on the British left wing and by 
Geddes' detachment. The advance was towards 
Pilken, the French being on the left of the 
Ypres-Pilken road, and the British on the right. 
Few troops would have come back to the battle 
as quickly as our allies, but these survivors of 
the Forty-fifth Division were still rather a 
collection of brave men than an organized force. 
The strain of this difficult advance upon a 
victorious enemy fell largely upon the ist and 
4th Battalions of Mercer's First Canadian 
Brigade. Burchall, of the latter regiment, with 
a light cane in his hand, led his men on in a 
debonair fashion, which was a reversion to 
more chivalrous days. He fell, but lived long 
enough to see his infantry in occupation of the 
front Gerrnarj line of trenches. No further 
progress could bs made, but ~n: least the advance 






had for the moment been stayed, and a few 
hours gained at a time when every hour was an 
hour of destiny. 


A line had now been formed upon the left, 
and the Germans had been held off. But in 
the salient to the right in the St. Julicn section 
the situation was "becoming ever more serious. 
The gallant i jth Canadians (Koyal Highlanders) 
were learning something of what their French 
comrades had endured the day before, for in the 
early dawn the horrible gases were drifting down 
upon their lines, while through the yellow mist 
of death there came the steady thresh of the 
German shells. The ordeal seemed mechanical 
and inhuman - such an ordeal as flesh and blood 
ran hardly be expected to bear. Yet with 
admirable constancy the 13th and their neigh- 
bours, the 1 5th, held on to their positions^ though 
the trenches were filled with choking and gasping 
mr r l "'man advance was blown back by 

the fingers which pulled the 

triggers were already stiffening in death. Xo 
soldiers in the world could have done m< ■re- 
finery than these volunteers, who combined the 
dashing American spirit with the cool endurance 
of the North. Little did Bernhardi think when 
he penned his famous paragraph about our 
Colonial Militia and their uselessness upon a 
European battlefield that a division of those 
very troops were destined at a supreme moment 
to hold up one of the most vital German move- 
ments in the Western campaign. 

Whilst these Canadians had been trying hard to 
hold a line, the small British detachment under 
Colonel Geddes up^n their left was thickening 
for a counter-attack. It had, as stated, been 
reinforced by two battalions from the Tuenty- 
seventh Division— the 2nd Corn walls and yth 
Koyal Scots — and was supported by the veteran 
Thirteenth Brigade, with the grime of Hill 60 still 
upon their faces. About five-thirty in the after- 
noon of April jf 3rd this body of troops, consisting 
of nine very WfMUI&fliral^Sfe. bridged across the 
gap HW pff ?R ^V(,>|B^ W , : ^ the French, 





and endeavoured to make a counter-attack. 
They found that the em my had heavily wired 
their new position. In spite of this the British 
made good progress, though at considerable 
expense* They finally dug themselves in at the 
farthest point that they could reach. The 
French upon the left were not yet in a position 
to render much help, so General Alderson, who 
was in command of this movement, threw back 
his left wing and held a line facing westwards 
with the 4th Rifle Brigade and a few Zouaves, 
so as to guard against a German advance between 
him and the canal. When the night of the 23rd 
fell it ended a day of hard desultory fighting, 
but the Allies could congratulate themselves 
that the general line held in the morning had been 
maintained, and even improved. 

Reinforcements were urgently needed by the 
advanced line, so during the early hours of 
the morning of April 24th two battalions of the 
York and Durham Territorial Brigade— the 4th 
East Yorkshires and a not her — were sent from the 
west to Yprcs to reinforce the weary Thirteenth 

Brigade, There was no fighting at this point 
during the night, but just about daybreak the 
Second Canadian Brigade upon the right of the 
British line, who were still holding their original 
trenches, were driven out of them by gas h and 
compelled to re-form a short distance behind 

Though the British advance upon the left had 
gained touch with the Canadian Third Brigade, 
the latter still formed a salient which was so 
exposed that the flank of it, especially the 13th 
and 15th regiments, were assailed by infantry 
from the flank, and even from the rear. To 
them it seemed, during the long morning of 
April 24th, as if they were entirely isolated, and 
that nothing remained but to sell their lives 
dearly + They were circumstances under which 
less spirited troops might well have surrendered. 
So close was the fighting that bayonets were 
crossed more than once, Major Norsworthy, 
of the 13th, among .others, being stabbed in t* 
fierce cnco^l^kl^n^i^Tgrirn was the spirit of 

the gtmmiTY 0F^CW5Ati ondcrfl11 ,elltiWS - 



absolutely calm, and I have never seen such 
courage," wrote a Victoria Rifle Territorial, who 
had himself come fresh from the heroic carnage 
of Hill 60. 

It was clear on the morning of April 24th that 
the advanced angle, where the French and 
Canadians had been torn apart, could no longer 
be held in face of the tremendous shell-fire which 
was directed upon it and the continuous pressure 
of the infantry attacks. The Third Canadian 
Brigade fell slowly back upon the village of 
St. Julien. This they endeavoured to hold, 
but a concentrated fire rained upon it from 
several sides and the retreat continued. A 
detachment of the 13th and 14th Canadians 
were cut off before they could get clear, and 
surrounded in the village. Here they held out 
as long as their cartridges allowed, but were 
finally all killed, wounded, and taken. The 
prisoners are said to have amounted to seven 
hundred men. The remainder of +he heroic 
and decimated Third Brigade rallied to the 
south of St. Julien, but their retirement had 
exposed the flank of the Second Canadian 
Brigade (Curry's), even as their own flank had 
been exposed by the retirement of the French 
Forty-fifth Division. This Second Brigade flung 
back its left flank in order to meet the situation, 
and successfully held its ground. 


In doing this they were greatly aided by 
supports which came from the rear. This 
welcome reinforcement consisted of three regi- 
ments of the Eighty-fourth Brigade, under 
Colonel Wallace. These three regiments were 
ordered to advance about four o'clock in the 
afternoon, their instructions being to make 
straight for Fortuin. Their assault was a 
desperate one, since there was inadequate 
artillery support, and they had to cross two 
miles of open ground under a dreadful fire. 
They went forward in the open British formation 
— the 1st Suffolks in the van, then the 12th 
London Rangers, and behind them the 1st 
Monmouths. Numerous gassed Canadians 
covered the ground over which they advanced. 
The losses were very heavy, several hundred in 
the Suffolks alone, but they reached a point 
within a few hundred yards of the enemy, where 
they joined hands with the few Canadians who 
were left alive in those trenches. They hailed 
their advent with cheers. The whole line lay 
down at this point, being unable to get farther, 
and they were joined at a later date by the 9th 
Durhams, who came up on the right. This 
body, which may be called Wallace's detach- 
ment, remained in this position during the night, 
and were exposed to severe attack next day. as 
will be seen later. So perilous was their position 
at the time the 9th Durhams came up that 
preparations had been made for destroying all 
confidential records in view of the imminent 
danger of being overwhelmed. 

In this and subsequent fighting the reader is 
likely to complain that he finds it difficult to 
follow the movements or order of the troops, 
but the same trouble was experienced by the 

generals at the time. So broken was the 
fighting that a regimental officer had units of 
nine battalions under him at one moment. 
The general situations both now and for the 
next three days may be taken to be this : that 
certain well-defined clumps of British troops — 
Twenty-eighth Division, Tenth Brigade, Cana- 
dians, and so forth — are holding back the Ger- 
mans f and that odd regiments or even companies 
arc continually pushed in, in order to fill the 
varying gaps between these ragged forces and 
to save their flanks, so far as possible, from 
being turned. 


Every hour of this day was an hour of danger, 
and fresh ground had been abandoned and 
heavy losses incurred. None the less, it may 
be said that on the evening of Saturday, April 
2 4 tli, the worst was over. From the British 
point of view it was a war of narrow escapes, 
and this surely was among the narrowest. 
The mystics who saw bandssof cowmen and of 
knights between the lines during the retreat 
from Mons did but give definite shape to the 
undeniable fact that again and again the day 
had been saved when it would appear that the 
energy, the numbers, or the engines of the 
enemy must assure a defeat. On this occasion 
the whole front had. from an unforeseen cause, 
fallen suddenly out of the defence. Strong 
forces of the Germans had only five miles to go 
in order to cut the great nerve ganglion of 
Ypres out of the British system. They were 
provided with new and deadly devices of war. 
They were confronted by no one save a single 
division of what they looked upon as raw 
Colonial Militia, with such odds and ends of 
reinforcements as could be suddenly called 
upon. And yet of the five miles they could 
only accomplish two, and now after days of 
struggle the shattered tower of the old Cloth 
Hall in front of them was as inaccessible as 
ever. It needs no visions of overwrought men 
to see the doom of God in such episodes as that. 
The innocent blood of Belgium for ever clogged 
the hand of Germany. 

Reinforcements were now assembling to the 
immediate south of St. Julien. By evening 
the Northumberland Brigade and the Durham 
Light Infantry Brigade — both of the Fiftieth 
Territorial Division — had reached Potijze. More 
experienced, but not more eager, was Hull's 
Tenth Regular Brigade, which had come swiftly 
from the Armentieres region. All these troops, 
together with Geddes' detachment and two 
battalions of the York and Durham Terri- 
torials, were placed under the hand of General 
Alderson for the purpose of a strong counter- 
attack upon St. Julien. This attack was 
planned to take place on the morning of Sunday, 
April 25th. When night fell upon the 24th 
the front British line was formed as follows : — 

The Twenty - seventh and Twenty - eighth 
Divisions held their original trenches facing 
eastwards. In touch with their left was the 
Second Canadian Urjg&de, with one battalion 
of the First Canadian Brigade. Then came 



Wallace's detachment with two battalions of 
the York and Durham Territorials joining with 
the remains of the Third Canadian Brigade. 
Thence Geddes' detachment and the Thirteenth 
Brigade prolonged the line, as already described, 
towards the canal. Behind this screen the 
reinforcements gathered for the attack. 

The advance was made at six-thirty in the 
morning of April 25th, General Hull being in 
immediate control of the attack. It was made 
in the first instance by the Tenth Brigade 
(which included the 5th Royal Welsh Fusiliers) 
and the 1st Royal Irish from the Eighty-second 
Brigade. The remains of the indomitable 
Third Canadian Brigade kept pace with it upon 
the right. Little progress was made, however, 
and it became clear that there was not weight 
enough behind the advance to crush a way 
through the obstacles in front. Two flank 
regiments retired, and the 2nd Seaforths were 
exposed to a terrible cross-fire. " We shouted 
to our officers (what was left of them) to give 
the order to charge, knowing in our minds that 
it was hopeless, as the smoke was so thick from 
their gas shells that we could see nothing on 
either side of us/' Some cavalry was seen, the 
first for many days, but was driven off by the 
machine-gun of the Highlanders. Finally a 
brigade of Northumberland Territorials came 
up to sustain the hard-pressed line, passing over 
some two miles of open country under heavy 
fire on their advance. It was then nearly mid- 
day. From that point onwards the attackers 
accepted the situation and dug themselves in 
at the farthest point which they could reach 
near the hamlet of Fortuin, about a mile south 
of St. Julien. 

It will be remembered that Wallace's detach- 
ment had upon the day before already reached 
this point. They were in a position of con- 
siderable danger, forming a salient in front of 
the general line. Together with the 9th Dur- 
hams upon their right, they sustained several 
German assaults, which they drove back while 
thrusting wet rifle rags into their mouths to 
keep out the drifting gas. From their right 
trenches they had the curious experience of 
seeing clearly the detraining of the German 
reserves at Langemarck Station, and even of 
observing a speech made by a German general 
before his troops hurried from the train into 
the battle. This advanced line was held by 
these troops, not only during the 25th, but for 
three more days, until they were finally relieved 
after suffering very heavy losses, but having 
rendered most vital service. 

Whilst the British were vainly endeavouring 
to advance to the north, a new German attack 
developed suddenly from the north-east in the 
region of Broodseinde, some five miles from 
St. Julien. This attack was on a front of 
eight hundred yards. The trenches attacked 
were those of the Eighty-fourth and Eighty- 
fifth Brigade.* of the Twenty-eighth Division, 
and no doubt the Germans held the theory that 
these would be found to be denuded or at least 
fatally weakened, their occupants having been 
drafted off to stiffen the Western line. Like 

so many other German theories, this particular 
one proved to be a fallacy. In spite of a 
constant shower of poison shells, which suffo- 
cated many of the soldiers, the enemy were 
vigorously repulsed, the 2nd East Surrey 
Regiment getting at one time to hand-to-hand 
fighting, the few who were able to reach the 
trenches remaining in them as prisoners. Great 
slaughter was caused by a machine-gun of the 
3rd Royal Fusiliers under Lieutenant Hallandain. 
Still, the movement caused a further strain 
upon the resources of the British General, as it 
was necessary to send up three battalions to 
remain in reserve in this quarter in case of a 
renewal of the attack. On the other hand, 
the Eleventh Brigade (Hasler), less the 1st East 
Lancashires, came up from the south to join 
the 10th, and Indian troops were known to be 
upon the way. The flank of the Eighty-fifth 
Brigade was in danger all day, and it was covered 
by the great devotion of the 8th Durham Light 
Infantry to the north of it. This regiment lost 
heavily both in killed, wounded, and prisoners, 
but it fought with remarkable valour in a very 
critical portion of the field. Early in the morning 
of the 26th the 1st Hants, on the right of the 
newly-arrived Eleventh Brigade, joined up with 
the 3rd Royal Fusiliers on the left of the Eighty- 
fifth Brigade, and so made the line complete. 

Up to the evening of Sunday, April 25th, the 
Second Canadian Brigade had succeeded in 
holding its original line, which was along a 
slight eminence called the Grayenstravel Ridge. 
All the regiments had fought splendidly, but 
the greatest pressure had been borne by Colonel 
Lipsett's Eighth Battalion (90th Winnipeg 
Rifles), who had been gassed, enfiladed, and 
bombarded to the last pitch of human endur- 
ance. About five o'clock their trenches were 
obliterated by the fury of the German bombard- 
ment, and the weary soldiers, who -had been 
fighting for the best part of four days, fell back 
towards Wieltje. That evening a large part 
of the Canadian Division, which had endured 
losses of nearly fifty per cent, and established a 
lasting reputation for steadfast valour, were 
moved into reserve, while the Lahore Indian 
Division (Keary) came into the fighting line. 
It is a remarkable illustration, if one were needed, 
of the unity of the British Empire that, as the 
weary men from Montreal or Manitoba moved 
from the field, their place was filled by eager 
soldiers from the Punjab and the slopes of the 

Splendid work was done during these days by 
the motor ambulances, which on this one evening 
brought six hundred wounded men from under 
the very muzzles of the German rifles in front 
of St.. Julien. Several of them were destroyed 
by direct hits, but no losses damped their 
splendid ardour. 


The Lahore Division having now arrived, it 
was directed to advance on the left of the British 
and on the right of the French, along the general 
line of the Ypres- Langemarck road. En- 
couraged by this reinforcement, and by the 



thickening line of 
the French, General 
Smith- Dorrien, who 
had spent several 
nightmare days, 
meeting one dire 
emergency after 
another with never- 
failing coolness and 
resource, ordered a 
general counter- 
attack for the early 
afternoon of April 
26th, There was no 
sign yet of any lull 
in the German 
activity which would 
encourage the hope 
that they had shot 
their bolt. 

The Indians ad 
vanced to the right 
of the French, with 
the Jullundux Bri 
gade upon the right 
and the Ferozepore 
Brigade upon the 
left, the Sir hind 
Brigade in reserve 
This Indian advance 
was an extraordi- 
narily fine one over 
fifteen hundred 
yards of open under a 
very heavy shell-fire. 
They had nearly 
reached the front line 
of German trenches 
and were making 
good progress, when 
before them there 
rose once more the 
ominous green 

yellow mist of the poisoners A steady north- 
east wind was blowing, and in a moment the 
Indians were encircled by the deadly fumes. 
It was impossible to get forward Many 
of the men died where they stood. The 
mephitic cloud passed slowly over, but the 
stupefied men were in no immediate condition 
to resume their advance. The whole line was 
brought to a halt, but the survivors dug them- 
selves in, and were eventually supported and 
relieved by the Sirhind Brigade, who, with the 
help of the 3rd Sappers and Miners and the 
34 th Pioneers, consolidated the front line. 
General Smith -Dorrien tersely summed up the 
characteristics of this advance of the Lahore 
Division when he said that it was done " with 
insufficient artillery preparation, up an open 
slope in the face of overwhelming shell, rifle, 
and machine-gun fire and clouds of poison gas, 
but it prevented the German advance and 
ensured the safety of Ypres." In this war of 
great military deeds there have been few more 
heroic than this, but it was done at a terrible 
cost. Of the I zgth Baluchis. only a hundred could 
b? rollccted that night, and many regiments 




were in little better case. The 1st Manchester 
and 1 st Connaughts had fought magnificently, 
but it cannot be said that there was any differ- 
ence of gallantry between Briton and Indian* 


Farther to the eastwards another fine advance 
had been made by the Northumberland Brigade 
of Territorials (Riddell) of the Fiftieth Division, 
who had just arrived from England. Some 
military historian has remarked that British 
soldiers never right better than in their first 
bat lie , and this particular performance, carried 
out by men with the home dust still upon their 
boots, could not have been improved upon. 

In this as in other attacks it was well under- 
stood that the object of the operations was 
rather to bluff the Germans into suspending 
their dangerous advance than to actually gain 
and permanently hold any of the lost ground. 
The brigade advanced in artillery formation 
which soon broke into open order. The fke p 
both from the Germ a r. ^uns, which had matters 
all their own wav, and from their riflemen, was 
incessafe^tff Ir^TareQtfVll SttNiftN North umber- 





land Fusiliers were on the left with the 7th 
upon the right* the other two battalions being 
nominally in second line but actually swarming 
up into the gaps, In spite of desperately heavy 

es the gallant Geordit -s won their way across 
open fields, with a» occasional easy behind a 
bank or hedge, until they were on the actual 
outbuildings of St. Julicn. They held on to 
the edge of the village for a long time, but they 
had lost their Brigadier, the gallant Rid dell ( and 
a high proportion of their officers and men. 
Any support would have secured their gains, but 
the 151st Durham Light Infantry Brigade behind 
them had their own hard task to perform, The 
three battalions which had reached the village 

c compelled to fall back, SI lortly after six 
in the evening the survivors had dropped back 
ta their own trenches. Their military career 
bad begun with a repulse, but it was one which 
was more glorious than many a facile success. 

On their right the Twenty-eighth Division 
had been s< nd the pressure 

was so great that two and a hall battalions had 
to lie sent to their help, thus weakening the 
British advance to that extent. Had these 


battalions been 
available to help the 
Northumbrians, it is 
possible that their 
success could have 
been made good. The 
si rain upon our over- 
matched artillery 
may be indicated by 
the fact that on that 
one afternoon the 
366th Battery of the 
Twenty-eighth Divi- 
sion fired one thou- 
sand seven hundred 
and forty rounds. 
The troops in this 
section of the battle- 
field had been flung 
into the fight in such 
stress that it had 
been very difficult to 
keep a line without 
gaps, and great dan- 
ger arose from this 
cause on several 
occasions, Thu 
gap formed upon the 
left of the Hampshire 
Regiment, the think 
of the Eleventh 
Brigade, through 
which the Germans 
pou red . Another 
gap formed on the 
right of the H amp- 
shires between them 
and the 3rd Royal 
Fusilier a of the 
Eighty-fifth Brigade. 
One company of the 
8th Middlesex was 
practically annihi- 
but by the help of 
Infantry and other 

la ted in filling this gap, 
the 8th Durham Light 

Durham and Yorkshire Territorials the line was 
restored. The 2nd Shropshire Light Infantry 
also co-operated in this fierce piece of fight- 
ing, their Colonel Bridgeford directing the 

The Indians upon the left had suffered from 
the gas attack, but the French near the canal 
had been very badly poisoned. By three-thirty 
they had steadied themselves, however, and came 
forward once again, while the Indians kept pace 
with them. The whole net advance of the day 
upon this wing did not exceed three hundred 
yards, but it was effected in the face of the 
poison fumes t which might well have excused a 
retreat. In the night the front line was consoli- 
dated and the reserve brigade (Sirhind) brought 
up to occupy it. It was a day of heavy losses 
and uncertain gains, but the one vital fact 
remained that, with their artillery, their devil's 
gas, and iheiv north-east wind, the Germans 
wrriJNnbfcRjlT'j'' 11 -"^ nearer 1 o that gaunt, 
tottering tower which marked the goal of their 




The night of the 
26th was spent by 
the British in reor- 
ganizing their line, 
taking out the troops 
who were worn to 
the bone, and sub- 
stituting such 
reserves as could be 
found. The French 
had been unable to 
get forward on the 
cast of the canal, but 
oil the west, where 
they were farther 
from the gas, they 
had made progress, 
taking trenches be- 
tween BoesinEhcand 
Liz erne, and par- 
tially occupying the 
latter village. In the 
early afternoon of 
the 27th our indom- 
itable allies renewed 
t In ir advauc e up< -n 
our left. They were 
held up by artillery 
fire, and finally, 
about 7 p,m. t were 
driven b:ick by gas 
fumes. The Sirhind 
and Ferozepore 1 11- 
dLm Brigades kept 
pace with the French 
upon the right, but 
made little progress. 

for the fire was terrific. The losses of the 
Sirhind Brigade were very heavy, but they 
I Id their own manfully- The ist and 4th 
(iurkhas had only two officers left un wounded 
ia each regiment The 4U1 King's also made 
a -very fine advance. Four battalions from 
corps reserve — the 2nd Corn walls, 2nd West 
\i\> li.ii^s, 5th King's Own, and ist York and 
Lancaster — were sent up at 3 p,m., under Colonel 
Tuson, to support the Indians. The whole of 
this composite brigade was only one thousand 
three hundred rifles. The advance could not 
g*t forward, but when in the late evening the 
French recoiled before the deadly gas, the left 
of the Sirhind Bri^ide would have been in the 
air but for the deployment of part of Tuson's 
detachment to cover their flank. At q p m + 
the Morocco Brigade of the French Division 
came forward once more at id the line was re- 
formed, Tuson's detachment falling back into 
support. Once again it was a day of hard 
fighting, considerable losses, and inconclusive 
results, but yet another day had gone and Vpres 
was still intact. On the ri^ht of the British the 
Tenth and Eleventh Brigades had more than 
held its own, and the line of the Gravenstrafel 
Kidge w T as in our hands. Across the canal also 
the French had come mi, and the Germans were 
being slowly but surely pushed across to the 



farther side. By the evening of the 28th a 
continuation of this movement had entirely 
cleared the western side, and on the eastern had 
brought the French line up to the neighbourhood 
of Steenstraate- 

At this point the first phase of the second 
battle of Vpres may be said to have come to an 
end, although for the next few days there was 
desultory fighting here and there along the 
French and British fronts, The net result of 
the five days' close combat had been that the 
1 in mans 1 1 ; 1 1 1 advanced some two miles nearer 
to Vpres. They had also captured the four 
large guns of the London battery, eight batteries 
of French field-guns, a number of machine-guns, 
several thousand French, and ab:mt a thousand 
British prisoners. The losses of the Allies had 
been very heavy, for the trot ps had fought 
with the utmost devotion in the most difficult 
circumstances. The casualties up tt> the end 
of the month in this region came to nearly 
twenty thousand men, and at least twelve 
thousand French would have to be added to 
represent the total Allied loss. The single unit 
which suffered most was the British Tenth 
Brigade (HulJ}, consisting of the ist Warwick^, 
2nd Seafort^'aWaiiiffl fusiliers 2nd Dublin 
l^rsili^|^Efi^YWMieHfrii.t4^ Ttb Argyll 






and Sut her la rids. These regiments lost among 
them no fewer than sixty-three olbc ers and two 
thousand three hundred men, a very high pro- 
portion of their total numbers. Nearly as high 
were the losses of the three Canadian brigades, 
the first having sixty-four officers and one 
thousand eight hundred and sixty-two men 
down ; the second seventy -one officers and one 
thousand seven hundred and seventy men ; 
while the third h;id sixty two officers and one 
thousand seven hundred and seventy-one men. 
The Northumbrian Division was also very hard 
hit, losing one hundred and two officers and 
two thousand four hundred and twenty-three 
men, just half of the casualties coming from the 
Northumberland Infantry Brigade. The Lahore 
Division had about the same losses as the 
Northern Territorials, while the Twenty -seventh 
and Twenty-eighth Divisions each lost about 
two thousand. General Hasler, of the Eleventh 
Brigade. .General Riddel 1, of the Northumber- 
land^ Colonel Geddes, of the Buffs, Colonels 
Burchall, McHaig, and Boyle, of the 4th, yth, 
and 10th Canadians, and Colonel Masters, of the 
1 st King's Own Lancasters, with many senior 
regimental officers, were among the dead. No 
British or Canadian guns were lost save the four 
heavy pieces, which were exposed through the 
exceptional circumstance of the gas attack. 

The saving of all the 
Canadian guns was 
an especially fine 
achievement, as two- 
thirds of the horses 
were killed, unci it 
was necessary to use 
the same teams again 
and again to get 
away pieces which 
were in close contact 
with the enemy. 

The airmen, too, 
did great work dur* 
ing this engagement, 
bombarding Stcen- 
straate, Langemarck, 
Poelcape He, and 
Faschendaale. In so 
short an account of so 
huge an operation it 
is-difficult to descend 
to the individual, but 
no finer deed could 
be chronicled in the 
v. lii ih' u.n than 
of Lieutenant 
Khodes - Moorhouse ( 
who, having been 
mortally wounded in 
the execution of his 
duty, none the less 
steered hin machine 
home, delivered her 
at the hangar, and 
made his report 
before losing con* 
sciousness for ever, 
As to the German 
losses, they were very considerable. The Twenty- 
sixth Corps returned a casualty list of 10,572, 
and the Twenty -seventh of 6,101, These are 
great figures when one considers that it was 
almost entirely to our rifles that wc had to 
trust. There were many other units engaged, 
and the total could not have been Jess than 
25,000 killed, wounded, or taken. 

In this hard- fought battle the British, if one 
includes the whole area of contest, had seven 
divisions engaged— the Fourth, Fifth, Twenty- 
seventh, Twenty-eighth, Fiftieth, Canadian, and 
Lahore* Nearly half of these were immobile, 
however, being fixed to the long line of eastern 
trenches. Forty thousand men would be a 
fair estimate of those available from first 
to last to stop the German advance. It would 
be absurd to deny that the advantage rested 
with the (Germans, but still more absurd to talk 
of the honours of war in such a connection. By 
a foul trick they gained a trumpery advance 
at the cost of an eternal slur upon their military 
reputation. It was recognized from this time 
onwards that there was absolutely nothing at 
which these people would stick, and thpl the 
idea of military and naval honour or the im- 
memorial customs .of warfare had no meaning 
for them wVatleWM I Tfj^Vesult wis to infvse an 
extri^i^^l^t^r^C^^.^r soldier*, who 

1 ]' AN 




had seen their comrades borne past them in the 
agonies of asphyxiation. The fighting became 
sterner and more relentless, whilst the same 
feeling was reflected in Great Britain, hardening 
the resolution with which the people faced those 
numerous problems of recruiting, food supply, 
and munitions which had to be faced and solved. 
Truly honesty is the better policy in war as in 
peace, for no means could have been contrived 
by the wit of man to bring out the full, slow, 
ponderous strength of the British Empire so 
effectively as the long series of German outrages, 
each adding a fresh stimulus before the effect 
of the last was outworn. Belgium, Lou vain, 
Rheims, Zeppelin raids, Scarborough, poison-gas, 
the Lusiiania, Edith Cavell, Captain Fryatt — 
these were the stages which led us on to victory. 
Had Germany never violated the Belgian frontier, 
and had she fought an honest, manly fight from 
first to last, the prospect would have been an 
appalling one for the Allies. There may have 
been more criminal wars in history* and there 
may have been more foolish policies, but the 
historian may search the past in vain for any 
such combination of crime and folly as the 
methods of " fright fulness " by which the 
Germans endeavoured to carry out the schemes 
of aggression which they had planned so long. 


The gain of ground by the Germans from 
north to south in this engagement necessitated 
a dra wing-in of the line from east to west over a 
front of nearly eight miles in order to avoid a 
dangerous projecting salient at Zonnebcke. It 
was hard in cold blood to give up ground which 
had been successfully held for so many months, 
and which was soaked with the blood of our 
bravest and best. On the other hand, if it 
were not done now, while the Germans were 
still stunned by the heavy losses which they had 
sustained and wearied out by their exertions, 
it might be exposed to an attack by fresh troops, 
and lead to an indefensible strategic position. 
It would have actually been done earlier had not 
General Foch, who commanded that section of 
the French line, begged that his men might be 
given time to try to regain their trenches. 
There were four days of comparative quiet, and 
then it was evident that the Germans still meant 

Upon Sunday, May 2nd, they made a fresh 
attack on the north of Ypres along the front 
held by the French to the immediate south of 
Pilken and along the British left to the east of 
St. Julien, where the newly-arrived Twelfth 
Brigade (Anley) and the remains of the Tenth 
and Eleventh were stationed. The Twelfth 
Brigade, which came up on May ist, consisted 
at that time of the ist King's Own Lancasters, 
2nd Lancashire Fusiliers, 2nd Essex, 5th South 
Lancashires (T.F.), 2nd Monmouths (T.F.), and 
ist Royal Irish. The attack was in the first 
instance carried out by means of a huge cloud 
of gas, which was ejected under high pressure 
from the compressed cylinders in their trenches, 
and rapidly traversed the narrow space between 
the lines. As the troops fell back to avoid 

asphyxiation they were thickly sprayed b\ 
shrapnel from the German guns. The German 
infantry followed on the fringe of their poison 
cloud, but they brought themselves into the 
zone of the British guns, and suffered consider- 
able losses. Many of the troops in the trenches 
drew to one side to avoid the gas, or even, in 
some cases, notably that of the 7th Argyll and 
Sutherland Highlanders, waited for the gas to 
come, and then charged swiftly through it to 
reach the stormers upon the other side, falling 
upon them with all the concentrated fury that 
such murderous tactics could excite. The result 
was that neither on the French nor on the 
British front did the enemy gain any ground. 
Two regiments of the Twelfth Brigade — the 
2nd Lancashire Fusiliers and the 2nd Essex — 
suffered heavily, many of the men being poisoned, 
the Lancashire Fusiliers losing three hundred 
men from this cause, among them the heroic 
machine gunner, Private Lynn, who stood with- 
out a respirator in the thick of the fumes, and 
beat off a German attack almost single-handed, 
at the cost of a death of torture to himself. 

It was found that even when the acute poison- 
ing had been avoided, a great lassitude was 
produced for some time by the inhalation of the 
gas. In the case of Hull's Tenth Brigade, which 
had been practically living in the fumes for a 
fortnight, but had a special bad dose on May 2nd, 
it was found that out of two thousand five 
hundred survivors, only five hundred were really 
fit for duty. The sufferings of the troops were 
increased by the use of gas shells, which were of 
thin metal with highly-compressed gas inside. 
All these fiendish devices were speedily neutral- 
ized by means of respirators, but a full supply 
had not yet come to hand, nor had the most 
efficient type been discovered, so that many of 
the Allies were still murdered. 

Upon May 3rd the enemy renewed his attack 
upon the Eleventh Brigade, now commanded 
by Brigadier-General Prowse, and the ist Rifle 
Brigade, which was the right flank regiment, was 
badly mauled, their trenches being almost 
cleared of defenders. Part of the ist York and 
Lancasters and of the 5th King's Own I-ancas- 
ters were rushed up to the rescue from the 
supports of the Twenty-eighth Division. At the 
same time the German infantry tried to push in 
between the Eleventh Brigade on the left and 
the Eighty-fifth on the right, at the salient 
between the Fourth and Twenty-eighth Divi- 
sions, the extreme north-east corner of the 
British lines. The fight was a very desperate 
one, being strongly supported by field-guns at 
short ranges. Three more British regiments — 
the 2nd Buffs, 3rd Fusiliers, and 2nd East Yorks 
— were thrown into the fight, and the advance 
was stopped. That night the general retire- 
ment took place, effected in many cases from 
positions within a few yards of the enemy, and 
carried out without the loss of a man or a gun. 
The retirement was upon the right of the British 
line, and mainly affected the Twenty-seventh, 
and to a less degree the Twenty-eighth, Divisions. 
The Fourth Division upon the left (or north) did 
not retire j but was the hinge upon which the 




others swung. During the whole of these and 
subsequent operations the Fourth Division was 
splendidly supported by the French artillery, 
which continually played upon the attacking 

Before closing this chapter, which deals with 
the gas attacks to the north of Ypres, and 
beginning the next one, which details the furious 
German assault upon the contracted lines of the 
Fifth Army Corps, it would be well to interpolate 
some account of the new development at Hill 60. 
This position was a typical one for the German 
use of gas. just as the Dardanelles lines would 
have been for the Allies, had they condescended 
to such an atrocity upon a foe who did not 
themselves use such a weapon. Where there is 
room for flexibility of manoeuvre, and when a 
temporary loss of ground is immaterial, the gas 
is at a discount ; but where there is a fixed and 
limited position it was practically impossible to 
hold it against such an agency. Up to now the 
fighting at Hill 60 had furnished on both sides 
a fine epic of manliness, in which man breasted 
man in honest virile combat. Alas ! that such 
a brave story should have so cowardly an ending. 
Upon the evening of May 1st the poisoners got 
to work, and the familiar greenish gas came 
stealing out from the German trenches, eddied 
and swirled round the base of the hill, and 
finally submerged the summit, where the brave 
men of the Oorsets in the trenches were strangled 

by the chlorine as they lay motionless and silent, 
examples of a discipline as stern as that of the 
Koman sentry at Hcrculaneum. So dense were 
the fumes that the Germans could not take 
possession, and it was a reinforcement of Pevons 
and Bedfords of the Fifteenth Brigade who were 
the first to reach the trenches, where they found 
the bodies of their murdered comrades, either 
fixed already in death or writhing in the agonies 
of choking. It is said that the instructions of the 
relieving force were to carry up munitions and 
to carry down the Dorsets. One officer and fifty 
men had been killed at once, while four officers 
and one hundred and fifty men were badly 
injured, many of them being permanently 
incapacitated. The Fifty-ninth Company of 
Royal Engineers were also overwhelmed by 
the fumes, three officers and many men being 

The gas attack upon Hill 60 on May 1st may 
have been a mere experiment upon the part of 
the Germans to see how far they could Submerge 
it, for it was not followed up by an infantry 
advance. A more sustained and more successful 
attack w r as made by the same foul means upon 
May 5th. Karly in the morning the familiar 
cloud appeared once more, and within a few 
minutes the British position was covered by it. 
Not only the hill itself, but a long trench to the 
north of it was rendered untenable, and so was 
another trench two thousand yards north of 




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byGobgle •"■- 

,/ 1 

Original from 




Illustrated by A, Gilbert. 

H, my dear, I don't know — I 
really don't know — but you 
look* that pretty!" 

Anna Dawson's mother, 
her hands pink from a day's 
washing and ironing, eyed 
her daughter with a hesita- 
tion that had lasted ten minutes. 

In Bloatero polls, that great East . Coast 
fishing town with its black-tarred gates in 
the chill North Sea, conditions of life in the 
poorer classes leaned to frequent surprises 
and trying problems for mothers with pretty 
daughters. A woman who had slaved so much 
for girl children that she thought she could 
never lose them would often be faced at a 
time when they were no older than Anna — 
eighteen — with the advent of the dreaded 
" yoyng man." 

■ Mrs, Dawson had feared something unusual 
Was afoot when her daughter, coming home 
as kte as seven o'clock for tea, came in the 
front way of the. little wharf-road house and 
went upstairs mysteriously with a parcel. 
From the bottom of the stairs she had heard 
the cracking of the new hrown paper. Then 
after eating little tea the girl had washed 
vigorously and come downstairs again to 
ask her mother to fasten the hooks of a shell- 
pink — dance dress f 

By the time Mrs. Dawson had tremblingly 
attached the last eye to the last hook, fur- 
boding with a mother's accuracy what turned 
out in substance to be the truth, a knock fell 
on the door, and behold, James Stacey, the 
big fish buyer, was on the step ? saying bluffly 
that he had come to fetch Anna to the Fish 
Trade's Ball at the Marine Rooms that night. 
With an unlit eiyar between his teeth, he 
began to apply the pressure necessary to 
bring Mrs. Dawson to an affirmative. He 
came to the matter in the crisp and business- 
like way to be expected of a man who, with 
hardly a grey hair, bought more extensively 
thfm anyone on the Blrateropolis market. 

" Mrs. Dawson, you and I know each other, 
and your daughter and I have known each 
other by sight a long time. We buyers are 
looked on to take tickets for the dance ami 
bring someone, I've neither wife nor child. 
I've seen Anna dancing on the net fiat. 
I knew there was no one in the town I'd 
rather take/' 

Reminiscence of a hard northern ancestry 
was in his words. 

" And you bought her the dress, Mr. 
Stacey ? "Vaid Anna's mother, with her hands 
on her hips. 

He nodded, 

" Sent her up to Wayfarer's to get it in 
her dinner-hour," His eyes twinkled good- 
humour edly. 

" Well, there's her father, you know, 1 don't 
know that I ought to give permission with 
him away at sea. He's an odd man, PYaps 
he w + on*t like this, though I'm not one to 
stand in Anna's way." 

M Skipper Dawson knows me, and what 
you've said I knew you'd say — that you'd 
not stand in her way. Anna said she'd like 
to come to the dance " 

" Oh, mother, I'd love to! Don't say no! 
There, I said nothing before, because I thought 
if you saw me in tlve dress — — " 

" Ah, well, I suppose I'm a foolish woman," 
faltered Mrs- Dawson. 

*' Come, you can manage the skipper/" said 

It was the crucial moment. 
1 Dm not always so sure of that, Mr, 

She was troubled, but she kissed her 
daughter, tried to smile at Stacey as though 
he had not assured an evening of anxiety for 
her, and dismissed the pair. 

They did not take a cab. James Stacey 
knew enough to play lightly where John 
Dawson was concerned. For the skipper, 
one of a boat-building family in which all the 
brothers were richer than he, was i\ <Iis- 




it seemed to the more brilliant Stacey, he had 
failed to make any advance. It wasn't much 
to be skipper of a drifter, with only a part 
share, and not enough got out of that .to -keep 
your daughter out of a net loft. 

The two walked slowly along the wet, 
badly-lit pavement. But they had gone little 
indeed of the way before James Stacey was 
aware for the first time of a love for the 
curing reek that hung over the old East 
Coast town in the damp November air, and , 
his companion, stepping along beside him in 
goloshes over her dancing shoes, was feeling 
a confidence and security in the big man's 
company which did not altogether come of 
the fact that he had asked her to the baft in 
a moment of fun, and bought her the dress 
like an uncle. 

He wouldn't have done it, she thought, if 
he didn't like her. How much did he like 

Conscious that there had been a silent 
communion between them in the darkness, 
Stacey spoke in answer to something he 
knew was in Anna's mind. 

" I will put it all right with your father/' 
he said to her. " I will tell him as soon as his 
boat's up. He knows I'm a man. for fun now 
and then. I'll say it was fun, and no doubt 
he'll take it so." 

He paused. 

" But you know," he added, " I asked you 
because I wanted you to come." 

Her pulse beat faster. It was much from 
Mr. Stacey. 

She, too, had gone because she wanted to 
go with him. She was used a dozen times 
a day to turning off men with a laugh. Her 
father had threatened her into that when 
she was .very yoqng, and by continued 
reiteration kept the warning ever green. 

Neither Anna's appearance at the ball nor 
her dress excited surprise. Girls of the poorer 
classes in Bloateropolis notoriously -l put all 
their money on their backs," and it was 
t a town of fair daughters, many of them with 
faces gentler than their station in the worka- 
day world. For in the tempestuous town 
life had many ups and downs, and family 
pretensions were often so small that one 
dissolute or open-handed man in an old- 
established boat-builders' or ropemakers' 
business was enough to reduce the family 
to the fishing classes for generations. 

Cyril, or " Squirrel," Belldon, proprietor 
of the rooms, a dapper little man with 
startled-looking hair — who concerned himself 
in the fishing interest in the winter months — 
greeted Stacey in the long bar outside the 

ball-room, where, the. whole company being 
of the market, the talk naturally got Mack 
to the day's prices. 

-" Well, you've brought a fine partner with 
you, Mr. Stacey," he said, rubbing his quaintly 
tiny hands. " That girl can reverse on a 
threepenny-bit. I've danced with her myself 
at our weekly hops and thoroughly enjoved 

He peeped in at the ball-room door. 

" Ah, I can see Miss Dawson looking round 
for you," he called back. " You ought to 
be there, Mr. Stacey. She'll have her pro- 
gramme full, you know." 

" Nonsense, I brought her," returned 

" Yes, but she can't keep on refusing others 
when you've not selected your own." 

" But I don't .want her to dance with any- 
one else." 

The M.C. looked at him, a little taken 

" She may." 

" True." 

Stacey moved off abruptly, ♦.but could, not 
pick out Anna among the girls and women 
in the ball-room. At last he saw her. She 
stole out from behind a conservatory .curtain 
at the far end of the room and beckoned him 
with her pencil. Under the soft. Eghts* of 
the ball-room, especially dea>ra'ted .tp-ii^ht 
for the five-shilling ticket . ball> * Stacey 
became more than ever aware how ytry 
pretty she was — her soft brown .eyes ,*Vher 
warm brown hair, her pretty, hesitating asms. 

He strode over to her with a firmness fhat 
overcame the slipperiness of the, floor.. " . 

" Have you given any dances to anyone 
else, Anna ? " he said, going up to her almost 

" Well, not promised, but I said I might 
give them. I thought I would give those 
you didn't want." 

" I want them all," he said. 

" But you can't. It's only " 

She blushed. She meant that it was only 
engaged people who were permitted such a 
monopoly. To him — to James Stacey — she 
could not say that. 

" 1 don't care, Anna " — he was evidently 
ignorant of the usages of Bloateropolis 
society. " I don't want to dance with anyone 

" You may have half," she said, firmly. 

" Very well." It was James Stacey giving 
way, which he was not wont to do. " Thank 
you for letting me have half," he added, m a 
humbler voice, and carefully divided and 
selected them. 







The band struck up. Came the " Squirrel," 
leading the first waltz with a grateful wall- 
flower ; and soon all the room was awhirl, 
pleasure dawning out of preliminary nervous- 
ness on a hundred faces. 

Stacey, for the first time since he was a 
young man of twenty, felt under his feet a 
dancing floor. To his partner's perfect 
rhythm and time, to the beat of her soul to 
his, he was soon stepping and turning as 


though that ni^ht were one of a hundred 
nights spent doing the same. He had learnt 
his dancing where she learnt hers — -at cheap 
hops. For there was this ahout Mr. James 
Stacey, reputed one of the richest huyers on 
the wharf — that he had sprung from nothing, 
son of a sea-venturer as lacking in business 
dash as Anna's father, who used to set sail 
in his little fishing dandy out of the harbour 
of a far-a@^jyiST^|tfte fishing town, 





" The telephone ? Confound the telephone ! 
No, I'm hanged if I'll come, Belldon." 

Stacey, temporarily a very strange being 
to the " Squirrel/' kept turning to look at 
the broken-up set, and at the girl by whose 
side the ever-useful M.C. was going to take 
his place. 

44 You're not yourself, Mr, Stacey," said 
little Belldon. 

41 Can't a man have an hour away from the 
fish market ? " 

14 But they say you bought 4 fresh ' heavily 

11 A thousand crans." 

He was civil with difficulty. Belldon 
dropped his hand heavily on his back. 

44 Well, go outside, man, and look at the 
weather ! The wind's come up like a fury. 
Half the fleet's lying up to-night. There'll 
be nothing but salt stuff for days, and you've 
got * fresh ' for London." 

Stacey suddenly changed. 

" I thought it this afternoon." 

The ball ended at midnight, for all in 
the trade had to be early astir. Belldon saw 
that for some hours Stacey had ceased to care 
whether herring fetched nine shillings or 
ninety a cran. 

44 I'd better take your place, I suppose, 
Stacey, for the last waltz. You won't be 
finished on the 'phone. Miss Dawson may 
as well see the evening out." 

41 Do, my son." 

Belldon went. Stacey 's programme dropped 
from his hand and he did not know it. He felt 
in his breast pocket ; but it was the pocket of 
his dress coat, and his notebook was not there. 

14 A pencil and piece of paper," he said, 
quickly, over the ball-room bar. 

The band struck up for the fourth figure of 
the Lancers. Stacey did not hear the music, 
nor did he cast a look in at any of the ball- 
room entrances on his way to the telephone in 
Belldon 's office. 

44 That Billingsgate ? That Bassick ? " His 
keen hatchet face was thrust into the mouth- 
piece. 4< Yes, I'm Stacey. What's the busi- 
ness ? " 

His lip set into a hard line. Even* now 
and again he nodded 4I Good, I understand/' 
or snapped out a query. 

** Yes, I've a thousand crans. The stuff 
shall be got out to-night and entrained for 
market. It only means dodging round to get 
the men. I can get on to the railway people 
for trucks. You hold it till twelve o'clock. 
The market must be on the top then. Owing 
to reports of this wind there'll be few boats 

up, and those in won't go out. We shall have 
the last big delivery of fresh, and ought to 
touch top this season. Good-bye." 

He half hung up the receiver, then spoke 
to his agent again. 

" I say, Bassick, by the way, how did you 
know I was here ? I say, Bassick — Bassick ! " 

No answer. The operator at the exchange 
told him he had been cut off. 

41 Give me mv office." 

44 Yes, Mr. Stacey." 

The man on night duty knew his voice. 
His night clerk answered him. 

44 1 suppose Bassick rang you up ? " said 
Stacey. 44 How did you know I was here ? " 

" Skipper Dawson's been here, sir," came 
the answer, after some hesitation, 44 and 
he'd beei\ home first. Said he saw the wind 
coming and nipped in before it," he added, in 
a peculiar tone. 

41 Saw the wind coming and nipped in before 
it/' Stacey repeated* guiltily. 44 Well," he 
said, attempting jocularitv, " what was he 

44 He was in one of his moods, sir. 1 cleared 
him out of the office." 

44 Quite right." The clerk's voice told him 
Skipper Dawson had fumed there about Anna. 
44 Well, about that thousand rran o' fresh. 
It goes up to London to-night. Get the men 
and arrange with the railway at once for 
trucks at our sidings. I'll be down to the store 
with the keys in " — he consulted his watch — 
44 twenty minutes." 

Stacey reached the main door of the ball- 
room as the last bars of the concluding waltz 
were being played. Little Belldon, seeing him, 
steered Anna out of the crush. 

She rested her hand on his arm with a 
gladness he did not calculate, but it touched 
him sufficiently to induce a smile. 

14 Your father's coming along," he said, 
pressing her hand. %< I expect he's come to 
take you home. It seems he saw this wind 

44 Oh, but you said " said the girl, in 


44 1 said Fd see him first, and I will." 

That satisfied her, though he had the look 
she saw sometimes upon his face on the wharf 
when the bells were clanging for sales and the 
fog-horns were blaring out in the wet mist 
overhanging the tideway. 

As the dancers were thronging down to the 
dressing-rooms she stood for a moment and 
looked up to him. 

44 I'd like to say," she said, with a happiness 
the rarer because of her fear, 4< it's all been 
very lovely to-night." 


uhit Lnji i r 



" A thousand crans at forty-five shillings, 
sell at sixty/' murmured Stacey, far away from 
her. " A clear profit of seven hundred and 
fifty pounds. " 


When Stacey was up in the hall in his heavy 
coat and muffler, waiting for Anna, the rough 
figure of Skipper Dawson stood out in his eyes 
among the people near the end. Outside the 
wind sang, and all was black through the 
glass of the exit door. Those who were to 
walk looked with none too much pleasure on 
the journey home. There was a rumble as 
some cabs drew up. Then Stacey was con- 
scious of the little figure of Anna's father 
coming towards him with rolling gait up the 
carpeted vestibule, and before he knew it 
a hand like wood had grasped his. 

44 I heard ye'd got my daughter here, 
Mr. Stacey," said Dawson. " Well, I've come 
to see her home. Don't know that I like her 
about the streets this time o' night." 

" You know she wouldn't have been alone, 
Skipper Dawson," said Stacey. " I should 
have taken her home." 

44 Ah, kind of ye ! " 

Their glances met and fought. The seaman 
bared his teeth like a dog's. There was the 
triumphant glint in his eyes, too, of a man 
who catches a better man tripping — always 
a knife in the flesh of the better man. 
Stacey realized for the first time that he had 
tripped. The sight of the skipper on the top 
of his meed of pleasure reminded him that 
there was a price to pay for the cup. It was 
plain to him now that there was a hell of 
wrath in the little man's heart. It was toying 
with the girl, according to his lights. 

In the instant that the two stood regarding 
one another, Stacey went so far as to ask him- 
self why he had been such a fool as to cross 
this man's path, but unaccountably getting 
no answer whatever he made up his mind to 
stay by his stall, and hold it, right or wrong 
— which was characteristic of him to the last 

Anna appeared, red in the face with more 
than the exercise of the evening. 

" Why, father " she began. 

Skipper Dawson jerked a contemptuous 
thumb over his shoulder. 

" Stacey's clerk will have told him I'm up, 
and Stacey'll have told you." 

The " Mr." gone at a very early stage of the 
game ! 

Stacey was conscious of the amusement of 
certain onlookers. Skipper Dawson was not 
garbed for a ball-room annexe. 

" Well, we'll go out, shall we ? " said 

The wind flung back the door in their 
hands. They found themselves outside. 

44 No doubt you had a cab ? " 

" Not a cab, Dawson." 

The old man cackled triumphantly. Stacey 
had been afraid of him then, for the expense 
would not have stood in his way. 

" Then my darter and I'll walk." 

There was no need for Anna's feverish little 
pressure on Stacey's arm. 

" I shall walk with you. You don't think 
I bring a lady to a dance without seeing her 
home ? " 

" I don't confess to be all upsides with 
your idees, Stacey." 

" I'll tell you one," returned the buyer. 
£t That is, that an enjoyable evening should 
end enjoyably." 

" Oh, well, as we're all friends," said the 
skipper, on a new tack of offensive familiarity 
Stacey could have struck him for. 

The wind blew them round a corner, and 
very fortunately precluded talk. But Stacey 
helped Anna over every kerb, once lifted her 
over a puddle as they came to the poorer- 
kept little thoroughfares of the quick cut they 
were taking home, and all the time saw that 
she kept to his arm. It was evident, even 
in the dark, however, what was working 
behind Dawson's mind. If a belated light 
from a house showed his face, the cold rage 
and temper in the man was plain to see. 

For the first time Stacey regretted. What 
of the girl when he got her home — this old 
demon of a father ? Yet there was no getting 
her away to let the skipper spend his fury on 

He must get himself asked to the house 
somehow, so that at least Anna got the pro- 
tection of her mother when he relinquished 

At the comer of the wharf road the skipper 
had evidently made up his mind to dismiss 
him and start to vent his spleen upon Anna 
there. He came to a standstill. 

44 We thank ye for y'r company, Stacey," 
he said. 

44 Ah, but I'm not going yet," said the buyer, 
with a heartiness that cost him much. " I 
promised, anyhow, to bring Anna back to her 
mother myself." 

44 Ah, likely ye'll come inside, being such 
a friend of the family, Stacey ? " sneered 

44 I've very little doubt, Dawson, you've 
got some whisky in the house. It's a cold 
night, and— ! 3 J - na 




ve," said the old man, tliru.stmar 
up his little face and furious eyes, 

Stacey remembered the clerk's 
words : " He was in one of his 
moods, I cleared him out. ?J 

Eavesdropping beast ! 

* Yes, you must come in and 
taste that whisky of mine/' said 
the skipper. tl 1 wouldn't have 
ye refuse now, Stacey," 

Under the circumstances he 
quite well knew it would choke 
Anna's ca%al!er, and scarce forebore 
to rub his hands with glee. 



M And you've to see a thousand eran of fl I shall be plad to, Dawson." He spoke 

1 fresh ' away ! M more easily, Anna's hand, masked by the 

" How do you know that ? " said Stacey, dark, had stolen into his to thank him. 

quickly. *' Well, here we are at the house/ 1 

t( I happened to be passing your office The little man suddenly slipped between 

when your clerk was on the telcphrnR to Stacey and Aj^a.apd |hri^t,-t,|ifj girl forward 



by the arm. She gave a keen little wince 
of pain. 

Big Stacey nearly jammed the skipper in 
the door. 

" You hurt her, didn't you ? " he said. 

The little man wriggled away and stumbled 
over the mat into his own house. 

44 Ah, she's more used to love touches now, 
I reckon," he jeered, " she having grown into 
such a fine girl ! " 

He flung open the front-room door before 
Stacey could reply, turning to his guest with 
a dangerous grin on his face. 

44 Anna's young man ! " he announced to his 
wife, who was sitting, palpably frightened, 
in an arm-chair by the fire. " He's come to 
taste a drop of my whisky friendly-like ! " 

" Where's Anna ? " 

44 Ye heard her run upstairs," returned the 

44 I brought her home as I prpmised," said 
Stacey, boldly. 

44 Thank you, Mr. Stacey." She got up. 

" No, don't go out of the room, don't go 
to Anna." Dawson prevented his wife. 
44 Get out the whisky for me and friend 
Stacey. I'll go to Anna. Must take farewell 
of her, for I'm off myself before morning. 
This wind'll fail." He grinned at Stacey. 
" PVaps even now some of our know-alls'll 
be caught in a trap." 

He lumbered out. 

" Oh, Mr. Stacey, if I'd known he had 
been coming home," said Mrs. Dawson, 
wretchedly, turning from the little sideboard 
with a decanter, a relic of better times, and 
glasses. " It's his coming home on top of 
it that makes it so bad ; you don't know ! " 

44 I should still have come for her if he'd 
been * up ' at half-past six." 

" Mr. Stacey, I should have hidden the 

Stacey bowed his head. 

" I'm very sorry, Mrs. Dawson." 

The woman went to the door. There was 
no particular sound upstairs. 

44 Thank God," she said, presently, " he's 
coming down. I feared — oh, you don't know 
the man! He's that jealous for the good 
name of our girl." 

James Stacey tapped his foot testily. The 
skipper found him by the table. 

44 Well, Stacey," he said, helping himself 
generously to the spirit, 4< your health ! " 

Stacey paused with the decanter in his 
hand and faced him. 

44 Where's Anna ? " 

11 Good Lord, you'd not be expecting to 
see her again to-night ? " Dawson patted 

Digitized by V^OOgle 

his big pockets and buttoned his blue coat, 
44 Have got all my tackle," he said. "I'm 

44 Good-bye, John," came from his wife. 

The skipper pointedly did not answer. 

44 Stacey, the girl sent down to say thank 
you, and will I say good night to you for 
her. Now, I'll admit that seems to me 
ungrateful " 

His little eyes glinted. 

The word " Fool!" was on Stacey's lips, 
but he kept it there. 

44 I'm sorry I've not been able to thank her 
myself for her company " 

44 And twelve dances." 

44 Twelve dances, Dawson." 

Had he got it out of her by holding her by 
the throat, threatening her if she spoke above 
a whisper ? There was something so tragic 
in the silence that had reigned upstairs — 
nothing more than the skipper's mutterings. 

Just then came the girl's voice from the 
top of the stairs. 

44 Are you coming, mother ? " 

" Yes, dear — now." 

11 And tell Mr. Stacey " 

44 We're going now ! " cried the skipper, 
out of the door, black in the face. 

Silence. Upstairs a door closed. 

The lamp was carried past the men, Mrs. 
Dawson, with set face, disregarding her 

" Outside, Stacey ! " said Dawson, hardly. 

But it was his turn to fence now, for word 
by word, as they made for the wharf, Stacey 
beat him to a corner, wanting, now he was 
clear of the women, to get the thing out, and 
also to relieve his lips of the w r ord " Fool ! " 
that hung on them burning. 

But again the wind saved. Dawson, v\ the 
bluster that bowled round every corner, could 
well pretend not to hear, and thus take no 

Under a sky of driving clouds, now covering, 
now flung off" constellation after constellation 
in the spangled canopy above, they reached 
the quayhead, where the waters crashed and 
spurted against the piles. Away to the right 
by Stacey's store a lamp or two fitfully glowed 
at the gates. 

44 My boat's here, Stacey," said Skipper 
Dawson, " and there's the same brand of 
whisky on board. Come and have a last 

Stacey looked at the lamps, which notified 
that men were waiting for him to bring 
the keys. Dawson gave willingly to few men, 
and certainly not twice to any. It came to 
Stacey that the fisherman thought him afraid 




to come to a place where he would be more in 
his power. 

" A night-cap then/' he said, carelessly. 

The drifter, the Anna, named after her 
master's daughter, rose up at them as they 
stepped on board. The skipper, choking back 
a laugh, pushed his guest with a semblance of 
bonhomie into the'tiny cabin aft. 

" Ferguson there ? " he bawled into the 
teeth of the wind. Old Ferguson, the Scotch- 
man, the right-down dirtiest man who ever 
put out of Bloateropolis as drifter's engineer, 
always was. 

" Look here, I don't drink with Ferguson," 
said Stacey, come to his limit. Payment for 
his pleasure that night did not, in his 
reckoning, include that. 

" Oh, all right/' said the skipper. " I'll tell 
him. But he's a good man," he added, sulkily. 
" Steam's ready whenever you want him to go, 
and he ain't squeamish of a bit o' sea." 

It was cold. Stacey shivered in the half- 
exposed little cabin. Dawson returned and got 
out one coarse glass. 

" We'll have to drink out of the same. Ye 
don't mind ? " 

Stacey was perfectly aware he could have 
a mug, but he acquiesced even in this final 

" Another ? " said the skipper. 

Perhaps "it was better, if Dawson could get 
his satisfaction out of this, to forego reprisals 
for the girl's sake. 

Stacey set down the glass after draining 
the last drop, which had sickened his very 
soul, and waited. 

The skipper was silent. The engines seemed 
for a minute or two to perspire noisily. It was 
Ferguson at the taps. 

" I must be going," said Stacey. 

The skipper tapped his foot twice. 

There was a roar, the churn of the pro- 
peller. Stacey, not expecting the sudden 
momentum, staggered. 

" But ye're coming out to sea with me 
to-night, Mr. Stacey ! " The skipper's face 
came up like shining wood to his. 

" Coming out to sea ? What for ? " cried 
Stacey. " What do you mean ? " 

" For a pleasure trip ! " roared the skipper, 
crazily. " Yes, of all things in the world 
a pleasure trip on the stormiest night this 
fishing ! Duccan, the mate, got at the whisky 
before we came up, and lay aboard. It's him 
that'll be at the wheel. Listen ! Anna's 
father ain't afraid. Why should her lover be ? 
Why, man, ye're thinking of y'r thousand cran 
o* fresh, I do declare — the man who'd buy 
my daughter for a dress to go to the ball I " 

A thousand things rose to Stacey's lips, but 
he never spoke them. He suddenly turned, 
lifted up the skipper in his arms as if he had 
been a child, and threw him out of the cabin. 
But in the yellow light of the swinging lanip, 
and the sudden lurch of the vessel on the 
stormy tideway, he misjudged his balance 
and crashed after the skipper on to some 
peevish little steps that led up to the deck, 
lying there with blood coming from his head, 
very still. 

Dawson, above, dropped his hands on his 
knees and laughed. 


Stacey came to himself with the sound as 
of a thousand demons shrieking in his ears, 
but found it was only the wind — of the open 

He was stowed under the lee of the little 
deck-rail forward. He turned his head and 
saw Dawson sitting like a gnarled statue, not 
two paces away from him, and now a big sea 
came and leapt, flinging high a feathering of 
spray. There was some light of stars or moon 
in the sky, for he saw the spray a dirty blue- 
white. The water drained down his side of 
the ship in her roll, and he could not move. 

He realized he was bound. After an effort, 
seeming to have to draw the power of speech 
from his vitals, all else was so numbed, he 
found his voice. 

" Is this how you fight a man, Dawson ? " 

" What, are ye round, Stacey ? " said the 
skipper, slowly. " I'd a mind ye should ride 
with me here, and you'd ha' been washed 
overboard if we hadn't lashed ye. YeVe wet 
and cold, Stacey ? " 

At another time the buyer would have 
fenced^ but he was at the lees of his endurance. 

" I can feel very little." 

"Ah, the wind's all but gone now, as I told 
ye it would go," said the skipper, bending over 
him with a knife and severing the lashings. 
" Can ye stand, Stacey ? " 

Stacey tried. It was the triumph of his 
mind over bodily distress. He could stand 
with a grasp of the foremast stays. 

Still the Anna plugged on, wetted and 
buffeted by the still turbulent breakers, but 
she was a taut craft. Behind, southward, were 
the harbour lights of Bloateropolis. 

" Wet and cold ! It gets to a man's 
bones," said the skipper, veering by Stacey. 
" Has it got into your bones, Stacey ? I've 
often thought it takes the devil out of a 
man. How much would ye give for a tot of 
spirit — you who can buy a dress for a girl like 
vou'd buy a cigar, and take her to a ball ? " 





'* Enough of this, Dawson/' said Stacey, 
over ice-cold lips, forcing his jaw to he steady. 
" You've got a grievance. Speak it out like 
a man, and like a sane man, if you can." 

M Gently, gently ! In my own time ! IJ 

The weather-lined old hrows seemed to 
close further down and brooch 

Stacey watched Dawson, 

"Speak up, man ! " he said at last, im- 
patiently. £VHjiirilforo wind, there's not 




a sign of a single boat coming home^ and by 
this madness of yours to-night you've lost 
me seven hundred and fifty pounds.' 5 

Like a fury the skipper swung on to him. 

" Ye J ve said it, man ! " he cried, " YeVe 
said it in those very words. Seven hundred 
and fifty pound any day — and Anna! What 
did ye want her for ? Answer me that ! " 

Answer ? No, James Stacey could not 
answer. He stood before the skipper, baffled, 

M What did ye go and lead her on mad and 
silly for ? " said the skipper, pitilessly, again, 
fc+ What was at the back of that clever mind — 
that mind that can pick, mayhap, a girl as 
well as a cran o' fish ! Did ye see she was 
pure and good, and not — not like the others ? 
Was there a kind'r ' sport ' in v'r mind, Jim 
Stacey ? n 

u Sport ? " said Stacey, huskily. 

Why did his lips hesitate at a plausible 
explanation which they could not speak ? 
Why could he not say it was all fun — fun — 
as he had said to Anna he would ? 

" Think y'rself a fortunate man that this 
clean wind before the light has made me 
'sane/ as ye call it, llr. Stacey/' said the 
skipper. w I'm going to take ye back, I 
could come out. I can get in. There ain't 
a skipper out of the port can deny that, even 
if I'm a poor man 
still Ye'll not 
be able to deny 
it in short of an 
hour, for ye see " 
— he brought 
down his heel 
sharply thrice — 
" we'll turn now. 
But "— the little 
boat began to 
swing in the 
waters — "byGad, 
James Stacey, ye 
had it in y*i mind 
to make a woman 
of no account of 
my girl ! " 

The tide was 
running down. 
As the little craft 
swung a fugitive 
breaker raught 
her amidships 
and broke in 
board. Out of the 
noise came the 
skipper's voire. 
As the A n n a 


headed for the harbour gates in the chill 
dawn he drew a rough parcel from his 

" Naw ! I didn't come out here for 
pleasure j Mn Stacey/ 1 he snapped, ( * but to 
throw a dirty thing overboard — this ball-dress 
ye bought my girl. There wasn't anything 
but just to chuck it into the clean seas ! 
See here ! " 

He thrust the parcel out under the buyer's 

It was at that moment that speech and 
action came to James Stacey. He snatched 
the parcel from the skipper and tore off the 

,L No — not the dress she wore this dear 
night, man ! M he said, pressing it to his lips 
again and again. *' You won't throw that 
overboard— not this dress ! 3 * 

The skipper's eves widened in the faint grey 


u What d'ye mean, Mr, Stacey ? n 
" I mean this has told me. 1 know I love 
her, Skipper Dawson. I want to marry your 
daughter if you'll let me, and she will." 

11 By Jupiter, I've been a fool- But — Mr, 

James Stacey, my son-in-law ! I couldn't 

see it, I tell ye. Lad, I doan't see it now •- - '* 

M I'm the son of a man who sailed his 

little boat in the days before steam— a 

man who daren't 
venture — a man 
like you, Daw- 
son/' return ed 
Stacey, "* That 
was my breeding, 
that was my 
school— I got out 
of it," 

Awkwardly the 
skipper, after 
putting out his 
hand and failing 
to meet Stacey 1 s 
eyes, lurched 
away aft. 

Upon a calmer 
sea the drifter, 
the Anna, plugged 
on for harbour 
against the tide. 

Ar r . James 
Stacey sat where 
he was, with a 
matter of pink 
silk and certain 
between his 
Origfriaffrom knees. 


Humours of tke 
Scottish Bench and. Bar. 


Illustrated by Helen McKie. 

OME years ago I wrote out, 
without any definite purpose 
except to put on record, the 
anecdotes of the Scottish 
Bench and Bar which I was 
able to dig up out of a fairly 
retentive memory. The col- 
lection lay for a long time untouched and 
almost out of mind. It was a surprise to me 
when I received a letter asking if I could 
supply some Bench and Bar stories to the 
Editor of The Strand Magazine. The col- 
lection I had made, on about a hundred 
scraps of paper, was searched for and found 
and placed in the Editor s hands. 

One cannot but be conscious that some of 
the collection — and these not the least 
amusing from a Scottish point of view — may 
not be easily comprehensible to the English 
reader, whether because they relate to Scots 
Law, which my country retained at the Union, 
or because the point of the particular story 
turns on Scottish pronunciation orqn Scottish 
phrasing. But that The Strand has many 
readers north of the Tweed is certain, and that 
there are many thousand Scotsmen all over 
the world who monthly enjoy their Strand 
is equally beyond doubt. Therefore-, pace 
the English reader, these Scots law stories 
are given, and it is to be hoped that where 
the Englishman in any part of the world is 
not quite clear about the interpretation of 
any of them it will not be, difficult for him to 
find a Scotch compatriot to make the joke 
clear to him, as there are few places in the 
world where a wandering Scottie is not to be 
found. We are constantly told that Sydney 
Smith declared that it would take a surgical 
operation to get a joke into a Scotsman's 
head. Sydney Smith never said anything 
so foolish. What he did say was very 
different. When someone said that it would 
be impossible to screw a joke into a Scotsman's 
head, Sydney replied, " I think a corkscrew 
would do it." It is to be hoped that if the 
reader here and there comes upon a story 
in which he is unable to see the joke he will, 
if no Scotsman is at hand, wait till he meets 

one, and try to believe in the meantime that 
there must be something under it, or it would 
not be in the collection. Of course, the 
Editor sees all the jokes or his blue pencil 
would cut out the incomprehensibles. At 
least, he has not asked for any exegesis. 

May the collector add that if the appear- 
ance in print of these anecdotes indicates 
that he has known or has forgotten other 
Scottish gems, he will be grateful if readers will 
communicate them. He has a capacious maw 
for such tit-bits. 

A Pungent Apology. 

A young advocate against whose client 
the Court had given judgment took upon 
himself to express his amazement at the 
decision, and used such strong phrases in 
vehement tone that it was felt he must bz 
dealt with for his contempt of Court. John 
Clerk, his senior, being absent at the moment, 
was told by someone, who went out to find 
him, of what was going on. He came bustling 
in, saying, " What's all this to-do ? "" On 
the matter being stated to him from the 
.Rench, he pat feci his junior on the shoulder 
and said, " .Ma lords, ye mustna be too hard 
on this young man for a fault which is only 
the result of his inexperience. He's been 
savin' he's surprised at what ye've done. 
Dod, by the time he's had as much experience 
of ye as I have, he'll no be astonished at ony- 
thing ye may do ! '' Solvuntur risu tabula. 

A Whistling Machine. 

Lord M was a great lawyer, but dense 

and ignorant on practical matters. It was 
said of him that, although he had gas in his 
house, he never knew that it came through 
pipes from a distance. 

At the trial of an engine-driver in a case 
where a man had been run over at a level- 
crossing, his fireman was giving evidence, 
and being asked whether the driver had 
whistled on approaching the crossing he 
replied that he had done so. 

" How far oil would his whistle be heard ? ff 


4 + 


was the next quest ion j to which he replied, 
" He whistled loud enough to be heard more 
than half a mile off." 

Lord M put down his pen and, turning 

to Lord Cockburn, said, " Cockburn, did you 
hear that ? Whistled loud enough to be 
heard more than half a mile off j the man's 

" Tut ! " said Cockburn. lt You don't 
suppose a driver of a train whistles with 
his mouth ? They have a machine for 

11 A machine for whistling! " cried Lord 

M > aloud. " I never heard of such a 

thing!' 1 „ 

Mr. H- 

Revened Vowels, 

-, who held the office of Advocate- 

Depute, had a peculiar way of pronouncing 
his vowels. He was prosecuting a thief at 
the Glasgow Circuit, who had inveigled a 
man into a close and stolen his watch and 
his overcoat. The principal witness being 

in the box, Mr. H interrogated him 

thus, after getting him to identify the 
prisoner : — 

" Did he gaw with you to the hid of the 
closs? " 

The reply being affirmative, he con- 
tinued : — 

** Had you your waatch on you at that 
time ? " 

" I had/ 1 

" And your clock upon your back ? " 

The judge looked up from his notes 
and with a twinkle in his eye asked the 
question : — 

u Do you mean, Mr. Advocate- Depute, 
that the witness was going down this close 
with an eight-da v clock on his back ? " 

" No, me lord, not a cloke, but a cbk, 
a spades of tope-cot/ 1 


A prosy counsel, who 
was fond of wrapping 
his ideas in metaphor, had 
been speaking unimpres- 
sively for a long time, and 
desiring to indicate that 
something was not to be 
conceived , said, " Your 
hml^hip surdy does not 

dream " Like a flash 

came the interruption, 

M Not yet, Mr. B , I 

may soon be dreaming 
if you go on much 

A Cute of Heredity* 

A certain judge, who was very positive as 
to his powers of memory, and dogged in 
maintaining anything to which he had once 
committed himself, was speaking to the 
officer who had commanded the guard when 
the judges drove to court, and who was 
dining with him in the evening. The officer 
was introduced as Captain B . 

u What ! ■' said his lordship. " Any rela- 
tion of my old friend Justice B — ■ — ? ' ? 

"Yes, my lord/' said the captain; "he 
was my father/ ' 

€< What, what ! " blurted out the Judge, 
without reflecting. * f My friend was never 

The officer took it well, and said, with a 
smile, " I can only assure my lord that I 
have always been known as his son." 

Then, seeing how embarrassing a situation 
he had created, the judge blurted out, "Ah, 
ah, yes, yes, right } he was married t but he had 
no family ! " 

Keeping a Dog, 

A semi mad and excitable woman had a 
cast; in court, and when in the witness- box 
was asked by her counsel to look at and 
identify a letter. This being done, the counsel 
said, "Read it!" 

She flung the letter to him, and said in 
loud tones : — 

" You'll jist read it if ye please. What's 
the pood of keepin* a dug if ye'vegot to bark 
yersel 1 ? " __ 

Permiiiible Abbreviations. 

An advocate was pleading in a case relating 
to tramways, and having to give an illustra- 
tion in his speech from the analogy of the 
omnibus shortened the word into " bus." 

1 1 _ 

ay GoOgl 

SHE FLUNG Tlk r l£!fVsW PftFkuH ." 




" Omnibus, I suppose you mean, Mr. — — ? v ' 
said Lord S . 

Counsel bowed with deference to the 
rebuke. Later in his speech he referred to 
hackney carriages, using the word lt cab/' 
and, instantly correcting himself, said :■ — 

lk I beg your lordship" s pardon for again 
offending. I should have said l cabriolet.' " 

There was rather a flushed face under the 
wig on the Bench, _^_^_^ 

His Rett Client, 

A Writer to the Signet, who was intimate 
with Lord Cock burn, met him in the street 
and asked him if he would accept an invitation 
on short notice and dine with him that 
evening to meet one whom he described as 
" My very oldest and best client." 

" Delighted/' said Cock bum ; " but tell 
me candidly, has he a coat left to bis back ? ' 

Thought It Wat His Wife. 

An anecdote related of Lord Braxfield 
gives an illustration of the difference of 
manners of his day and the present. Being 

moment that it was not his wife who was 
his partner. __^_^ 


Lord V was very wily in inducing 

juries to return the verdict which he thought 
would give a just result. At a trial, where 
the case against the accused was somewhat 
thin, one point being the rather weak one 
that some half-burned matches found in 
the house the prisoner was charged with 
breaking into were of the same manufacture 
as those in a box found upon him when 
searched — a very slender piece of evidence 

— Lord (.' , in charging the jury, went over 

all the other points, rather indicating that 
they were not strong, and then concluded 
his charge thus : — 

lt And so, gentlemen j you might, if that 
were all, find some difficulty in holding that 
the prosecutor had proved his ease/ 7 and then, 
throwing pathos into his voice and raising 
his hands, " but, oh, gentlemen, these matches I 
Consider your verdict, gentlemen." 

Conviction without leaving the box. 

Bed -time. 

About the beginning of 
the last century the Dean 
of Faculty of the day 
happened to be an early 
riser and did much of 
his work in the morning. 
Another counsel, who 
later attained the highest 
position on the Bench 
and who hailed from the 
Highlands, was informed 
by the Dean of Faculty's 
clerk that it was proposed 
to hold a consultation on 
the following morning at 
six o'clock* The reply 
was : — 

" Just go and tell the 
I Jean of Fa cooltie from me 
that that is rather lett. I 
like to be in bed bv four/' 


much displeased with the play of a lady who 
was his partner at whist, he broke out in his 
rage, using a condemnatory expression about 
the lady's eyes and referring to another region 
to which he would fain consign her. Suddenly 
realizing by the consternation of the party 
how he had offended, he hastily apologized, 
explaining that he had forgotten for the 

The Other Place. 

A legal luminary, whose 
temper was not of the sweetest, having been 
badly bumped in his carriage by its going 
over a stone at the entrance of the house 
to which he was driving, angrily called out to 
the man at the gate to have it removed. 
On his return, the carriage once more bumped 
over the stone, whereupon the shout came 
from the ^ttpw^fffiara rascal, if vou ill n't 





send that beastly 
stone to hell, ill 
break your head/' 
u Aiblins/'* re- 
plied the man, 
quietly, u gin it 
were sent to 
heevin, it wad be 
more out of your 
lordship's way." 

An Enforced 

A prisoner 
being brought to 
the bar and hav- 
ing no counsel, the 
judge asked a very 
youthful and in- 
significant- looking 
advocate to take 
up the case and 
protect the ac- 
cused's interests, 
which the boy 
blu shingly under- 
took to do* The 
prisoner took a 
good look at 
him, and at that 
moment was asked whether he pleaded guilty 
or not guilty. 

Pointing to the advocate, he addressed the 
judge thus :— 

11 Ma lord, is it that wee laddie there that's 
going to take ma case in haund ? ,f 

u Yes," said his lordship, u he has kindly 
agreed to conduct your defence/ 1 

Ihe prisoner gave a sigh and, .shrugging his 

* Mil) be. 


shoulders, replied, 
"Oh, then, III jist 
plead guilty/' 

Injudiciaii* Crott- 

An old and 
practised hand 
at the Bar once 
emphasized h i s 
warnings to young 
counsel as to the 
danger of putting 
cross- questions at 
haphazard. He 
said he had once 
been present at a 
trial where the 
defending counsel 
was a man of infi- 
nite complacency, 
a n d recei ved every 
answer, however 
deadly to his case., 
with a smiling 
" Quite so, quite 

He told how, in 
a prosecution for 
theft ; the facts 
which came out in examination-in-chief were 
that a publican who was closing his house 
at shutting-up time good-naturedly allowed 
three men, who pled with him for a drink, to 
come inside, offering a glass of beer without 
payment, as he could not sell at that hour. 
They rewarded him by seizing and carrying 
of! his scarf-pin. The only corroboration 
of Ins identification of the men came from a 
rran who was standing at the next house dcor, 






" Vou see/' the old hand said to the 
youngsters, " how much could be said to throw 
doubt upon the identification. It was night 
— dark — he had never seen the men before — 
how could he be sure ? What was he doing 
there in the middle of the night ? The whole 
thing could be represented as doubtful." In 
short, a very plausible case might be made 
out for a not proven, that loop-hole verdict. 
" Well," he went on, " what do you think 

D G did ? He got up and started 

a vigorous cross-examination, and in five 
minutes had brought out these facts. 

li First, that it was a bright moonlight 

44 Second, that there was a lighted street- 
lamp opposite the door. 

" Third, that the man had reason to be 
where he was, as he had come down from his 
house with a friend who had supped with 
him, and was finishing his pipe at the door. 

" Fourth, that his attention was specially 
attracted by hearing one of the men call 
out to the others before they came out of the 
public-house, ' Doon White's close, as fast 
as ye can rin.' 

" Verbum sap., my boys." 

Counsel's Share of the Spoil 

Mr. G on one occasion was successful 

in defending a thief, who had stolen a quan- 
tity of one-pound notes from a farmer. In 
the evening of the day of the trial his servant 
came to his study and told him that a man 
wished to see him. On going to the door, 
he found his client busily counting off a 
number of notes from a bundle. On asking 
him what he wanted, the naive reply was : — 

" Oh, sir, I've just called to give you your 
share. There was jis' thirty notes, an' here's 
your fifteen, and two more for yer fee ! " 

An Interpreter Wanted. 

Lord Braxfield spoke in the strongest 
Scottish dialect and tone. 

" Mon, hev ye no coonsel ? " said he to 
Maurice Margorot, an Englishman accused 
of sedition. 

The Englishman gave no reply. 

" Div ye want ony coonsel appinted to 
ye ? " said Braxfield. 

44 No," replied the man, when this had 
been explained to him, " I only want an 
interpreter to make me understand what 
your lordship says." 

A Covert Thrust. 

A certain judge has a very masterful way 
of taking the conduct of a case out of the 
hands of counsel and practically examining 
a witness without allowing counsel to ask 
the questions he desired to put. In a certain 
case, after the judge had told a witness that 
he might go, there was a pause of some 
length, at the end of which counsel said, 
" Who is your lordship's next witness ? " 

Conversion on m. Small Scale. 
In a case relating to a legacy left for 
Jewish missions, a body calling itself the 
" Society for the Conversion of Israel " claimed 
the fund. It was brought out in the examina- 
tion of the secretary of the society that its 
average expenditure was one thousand five 
hundred and fifty pounds a year, and that 
the average of conversions only came to one 
in every two years. " Which am I to under- 
stand?" said Mr. Y , in cross-examination. 

u Is it that it takes one thousand five hundred 
and fifty pounds to convert half a Jew, or is 
it that it takes one thousand five hundred and 
fifty pounds to half convert one Jew ? " 

It is to be hoped that readers will not find 
any of these anecdotes to have a chestnutty 
flavour. There are many chestnuts in the 
collection from which they are taken, which 
cannot be recounted except viva voce, when it 
can be ascertained if the hearer knows the 
story, and, if so, whether he would like to 
hear it again. Those given above are but 
specimens intended to be illustrative of 
the humorous side of Scottish Bench and 
Bar life. 

by Google 

Original from 




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M ^ vl- IHH i, ,\U».\Ia*\ *AF l&XJ AGE ig, 

'Ortg'inarfroKi' i,k Jl '* 





Regiment of the Guards in 1866, and took 
part in both wars with his regiment. The 
war of 1870 brought him the Iron Cross and 
the Order of the Sword, He then 
studied from 1873-1876 at the War 
Academy, and was commanded in 
1S77 to the General Staff, He be- 
longed to this at first as captain on 
the staff of thV Second Army Corps 
and the First Division (Konigsberg), 
In 1884 he was commander of a com- 
pany in the 58th Regiment (Glogau 
and Fraustadt). Afterwards he re- 
turned to the General Staff, being 
with the Third Corps in 1888. In 
1889 he was transferred to the 
Ministry of War - as departmental 
chief, and in 1893 he became com- 
mander of the Infantry Regiment qi 
(Oldenburg), From i8q6-iqoo he 
was Chief of the General Staff of the 
Eighth Army Corps, and he was then 
transferred in 1900, over the head 
of a brigadier, to the Twenty-eighth 
Division (Karlsruhe), and in 1903 to 
the Fourth Corps in Magdeburg. He 
was the general in command of this 
corps until 191 r. But failing health 
put an end to that career, He . 
therefore asked to be relieved of 
his duties in iqir, and lived in 
retirement in Hanover. At the 
outbreak of the war Hindenburu 
was therefore not one of the army 
chiefs ; indeed, he was not even a 
major-general. He offered his ser- 
vices, but as far as it is known he did 
Vol. liiL-*. 

not occupy the post of a commander during 
the first weeks of the war. Then came the 
period when Eastern Prussia was overrun by 
the Russians, To meet this enemy the 
All-Highest War Lord sent General von 
Hindenburg, who hurried immediately to 
the East, where he succeeded in forcing the 
Russians to retire. 

He then received a fresh call — to command 
the new (the Ninth) German Army and the 
Austro-Hungarian forces united with it. 
Recently, as all the world knows, he was 
appointed Chief of the General Staff, thus 
becoming the supreme leader of the land 
forces of the Central Empires* 

lL Can it be wondered at/' cries one of his 
admirers j f * if folk-lore already surrounds this 
army leader like a prince of war of the past ? " 

Well, folk-lore is a thing of fancy rather 
than of fact, Facts tell us that Hindenburg, 
whatever his abilities, is the beaten leader of 
a beaten people. The idol of his nation in 
the fright fulness of savagery, he is worthy 
of his worshippers. Hindenburg is the 
Mumbo-Jumbo of the Huns, 



HE clerk informed iMr + Sumner 

that a party named Davies 

wished to see him. Party 

asserted that he had an 

appointment. Party seemed 

in rather a hurry, mentioned 

the clerk. 

ts Let h'im wait in the outer office," ordered 

Mr. Sumner, " I'll rinjr when Fm ready to 

see him. Say I'm engaged at present." 

lie sat forward in his well- cushioned chair 
when the clerk had retired with this message, 
and gave all his attention to the job of balanc- 
ing a paper-knife on the tip of a forefinger. 
Small success attended the effort. He gave it 
up, and with a gold pencil-case drew circles 
on the blotting-pad. The clerk knocked 
presently, and announced that the party 
named Davies declared he could wait no 

" Show him in/' commanded Mr. Sumner, 
glancing at his watch, (+ I can give him four 
minutes. Not a second longer/' 

The visitor entered, taking off his tweed 
cap. He stuffed it into his pocket. 




" Shut the door 
behind you," 
ordered Mr. Sum- 
nefj abruptly. 

14 I'm not going 
to say nothing," 
remarked Davies, 
without moving, 
' that I object to 
be o% T erheard." 

Mr, Summer 
had to rise from 
h i s comfortable 
chair, and put 
himself to the 
trouble of carry- 
ing out his own 
instructions. The 
caller moved 
slightly, and took 
up a position 
on the hearth-rug. It was rather like the 
opening of a game of draughts, with both 
sides playing for safety. 

" Well/' said Mr. Sumner, impatiently, 
11 make a start. What do you want to see me 
about ? " 

4t Didn't want to sec you at all," retorted 
the other. " You sent word you wanted to 
see me." 

11 But state your case, man. Begin the pro- 
ceedings. Let's hear what you have to say." 
u At present," declared Davies, with his 
chin out, "I'm not a talker ; I'm a listener." 

Mr, Sumner appeared to have some thoughts 
of returning to his chair, where he could 
assume a magisterial air. Changing his mind, 
he sat upon the corner of the polished table. 
Reaching across, he took up the paper-knife. 
M Davies/' he said, "I'm going to be frank 
and straightforward with you, It's not my 
custom to beat about the bushj and I cant 
claim to be good at it. I want to ask you 
a definite question, and it's to your interests 
to give me a definite answer." He pointed 
at the visitor wrth the paper-knife, " What's 




Illustrated by 
E, S> Hodgson. 

your price ? Now, now ! " as 
the other made a gesture of 
irritation, " we needn J t have 
any sentimental talk about 
principles, or nonsense of that 
kind. L repeat, what's your 
price ? ** 

"As it happens, Mr, 
Sumner, I'm not to be sold. 
And the sooner you realize that the better." 

" Attend to me." The paper-knife came 
into action again. u I am an employer of 
labour in a somewhat extensive way. You 
are the secretary of a so-called working men's 
club, not far off." 

li Why ' so-called 3 ? What do you mean 
by that phrase ? " 

" Keep cool, Davies," recommended Mr* 
Sumner, *' Nothing is ever gained by losing 
one's temper, I withdraw the word. It was 
not well- chosen. I offer an apology." 

11 Granted," said Davies, curtly. 

" A considerable number of my men belong 
to your club. More than once, when there 
has been a little — er— misunderstanding, you, 
I understand, have given advice to them on 
the methods they should pursue." 

14 And they've adopted it," 

" And they," agreed Mr. Sumner, hand- 
somely, tJ have adopted it. So that I look 
upon you, Davies, as a power in the borough, 
and it is a matter for regret to find that you 
have, for some reason, got your knife into me, 
Now, this private chat of ours is intended to 
ascertain whether you can be persuaded to 
take the knife out, and if you must use it, 
use it on somebody else. All the world is at 
peace. War seerns to be a thing of the past, 
and surely — — " 

11 Any special reason for choosing the present 
moment ? M 

" A very special reason , if you mu 

I intend to stand for : Parliament at the by- 
election that's likely to come off soon." 

" And you want all the friends you can get 
around you ? " 

" Naturally." 

" Well," said Davies, finding his tweed cap, 
and punching It out at the crown, " you can 
reckon on me "—here Mr. Sumner put out 
his hand impulsively — " for not being one of 
'em. I know which side you belong to, and 
you know which side I belong to, and all I 
can say is I'm surprised you sh'd make such 
a proposal. If you knew me well, you 
wouldn't dare. I wish you a very good 

Mr + Sumner moved adroitly from the edge 
of the table, and interposed to stop the visitor 
from leaving. Declaring that he was in no 
way pressed for time, he urged Davies to 
avoid the defect of impatience ; business con- 
ducted in a hurry never proved satisfactory. 
Mr. Sumner mentioned that this was not the 
first time he had been approached by the 
local folk. The narrowness of the majority 
for the sitting member had caused him to 
hesitate. Now the sitting member was about 
to be made a judge, and the persuasions of 
the local men could no longer be resisted. 
Apart from this, said Mr, Sumner, becoming 
more confidential, he was experiencing some 
home worries; an only son had been devoting 
himseff to the pernicious game of cricket, and 
when one had an^ieULs of that nature, whv, 



if and 

5 2 

it was imperative to 
keep the mind well 

84 And that sug- 
gests something," 
remarked Mr + Sum- 
ner. u Didn't I hear 
that vou had a 
boy ? " 

11 A good 
said Da vies , 
a clever one. 
Although I say it. 
And a pride and a 
comfort to his 
mother and to me/' 

" You are to be 
envied, Davies. 
Happy is the father 

who " He did 

not complete the 
sentence. li My pro- 
posal is this. I dare 
say I spoke rather 
clumsily just now in 
asking what your 
price was, I ou^ht 
to havr said. What 
can I do for you ? ' 
Now, in regard to 
this boy of yours. I 
am prepared, if you 
will allow me, to 
take charge of his 
education, to be re- 
sponsible for the 
cost, even though he 
should go so far as 
one of the universi- 
ties. In short— — " 

" In short," Davis 
broke in, aggres- 
sive 1 y, €i having 
made apparently 
something of a 

muddle of bringing up one hoy, you want to 
see what you can do with the bringing up 
of a second, Mr; Sumner, you've come to the 
wrong shop. Our boy has been looked after 
by his mother and me since he first came to us, 
and we're not going to share the responsibilities, 
or the pride, mark you, with anyone. He's 
gained scholarships already that have taken 
him to a public school. He looks a treat in bis 
O.T.C. uniform. He'll probably make his own 
way to Cambridge* He's so well clear of the 
rocks now that he don't want you or any 
other pilot to come aboard. And as to you 
being a candidate for political honours, allow 



me to say that Edward Da vies will oppose you, 
J orse, foot, and artillery, in the future, as he 
has always done in the past.'* 

4( Vou are an impertinent fool/' shouted 
Mr. Sumner, " and, in all probability, a con- 
founded scoundrel," He struck the bell on 
the table violently. 

" Not such a fool," retorted the other, 
" as to be took in by you. Not such a scoundrel 
as to promise what I can't perform." 

" Show this man out " ordered Mr. Sumner 
to the clerk, 41 and if he dares to call again, 
summon the police." 

" No, laddieifiiffttrfced Da vies, also addreB- 





ing the clerk. t( Don't you in that case summon 
the police* If ever I call here again, you can 
assume I've gone off my nut, and you can 
have me removed straight away to the nearest 

When, two years later. Da vies paid his 
second visit, the clerk might have discovered 
himself, as a consequence of these divergent 
instructions, in something of a tangle. It 
happened that, in the meantime, a great war 
had been started, and the clerk was now 
a sergeant attached to the British Expedi- 
tionary Force, and giving commands as readily 

as in peace times he 
had accepted them. 

"Missy/' said Da vies, 
breathlessly, across the 
counter to one of 
the new staff, li tell the 
governor, if you don't 
mind, that a party 
wants to see him on 
private business for 
just about three- 
quarters of a second. 
Mention that the 
party's sorry to trouble, 
but- — " 
Si Your name, please." 
There was no waiting 
on this occasion. Mr. 
Sumner came out on 
the girl's heels, and him- 
self lifted the flap of the 

" Do you bring me 
any news ? lf he in- 
quired, anxiously. He 
clutched at Davie s*s 
elbow. " Any news 
about my boy ? His 
regiment, I see, has 
been in the new ad- 
t( He's safe," 
Mr, Sumner took the 
visitor into the room 
and closed the door. 
Going to the comfort- 
able chair, he kneeled 
down at the side of it. 
Davies bowed his head 
during the few moments 
of silence. 

Lt Well, well," said 
Mr. Sumner, rising, and 
finding his handker- 
chief, * A now that's all 
right. That's all right* Good of you, Davies 
to come round, I'll guarantee you haven't 
lost any time." 

il My sons letter came a quarter of a liower 
ago, sir , and soon as his mother and me had 
made ourselves acquainted with the contents, 
I came off here jest about as hard as I could 

11 Always knew you were a man of energy, 
Davies. I recollect that during that by- 
election you allowed very little grass to grow 
under the soles of your boots." 

u A TRTt good fight," chuckled the visitor, 
reminiscent U\ The Lyings I said al>out you, 




and the remarks you passed about me ! 
Hammer and tongs, wasn't it ? " 

44 Hammer, and tongs, and every other 
instrument of warfare we could lay our hands 

44 We only just beat you, sir. You put up 
r- very good struggle." 

44 I've often thought," said Mr. Sumner, 
44 what a blessing in disguise it was. If I had 
been in Parliament when the war broke out, 
I shouldn't have; bcten able to concentrate my 
energies on the business here. I can assure 
you, Davies, it has been no easy task to keep 
matters going." He went across to the window, 
and remarked softly to himself, " My boy's 
safe, my boy's safe ! " 

44 You'd have been very little use, sir, in 
the House of Commons. You speak your mind 
too plain to suit the parties there. Too 
much of the Jack Blunt about you to please 

44 You're fairly straightforward, too, Davies. 
What I mean to say is that there's no humbug 
in you. If you were only on the right side in 
politics " 

44 I am!" 

Argument began without delay. Over the 
polished table the two started a violent debate 
with all the old methods, and the ancient 
phrases, with urgent appeals to stick to the 
question, to listen to common sense, to refrain 
from drawing a red herring across the path, 
to leave off quibbling, to give a plain answer 
to a plain question, and to endeavour to look 
at the topic in the proper light. Perhaps 
there was not the same vigour that had been 
exhibited in former days ; the contest sug- 
gested a display of exhibition boxing by two 
pugilists who had for a considerable space 
been absent from the ring. An emphatic 
gesture by Mr. Sumner carried the date-case 
from the table. Both attempted to rescue it 
from the carpet, and their heads bumped 
against each other. 

44 Clumsy ! " ejaculated Mr. Sumner. 

44 Clumsy your own self," retorted Davies. 
" Why didn't you leave the job to me ? I'm 
younger than what you are." 

44 1 am fifty-one to-day," declared Mr. 
Sumner, glancing at the date-case. 

" Sorry," said Davies, apologetically. " I 
took you to be older than that. It's your hair 
that deceived me." He hesitated, and then 
remarked, with a burst, " Many 'appy 

44 1 haven't had that wish from anybody else. 

Even my boy But of course he's too 


11 You'll hear from him in the course of 
a day or two," announced Davies. " My son's 
letter said so. * Sumner/ he wrote, 4 sends his 
love to his father, and will be forwarding 
a note to him very shortly.' " 

44 You haven't, by chance," asked Mr. 
Sumner, deferentially, " brought the letter 
with you ? " Davies produced a green en- 
velope from his inside pocket. " Would it 
bother you, Davies, to read out the part that 
concerns my boy ? " 

" You can read it all for yourself, sir. 
I'd leave it with you only that I faithfully 
promised the missus " 

44 I know, I know. I treasure every one 

that comes. And if my wife /were alive 

You just look through it, Davies, and m&ke 
your own selection. Take your time. There's 
no hurry." 

Mr. Sumner sat in his chair and folded -his 
hands. . 

114 My dear father and mother,"" Davies 
read, " 4 one of my fellow-officers is coming 
across, and he will post this to you so soon as 
he arrives at Victoria. The newspapers have 
most likely told you that our bomb-throwing 
section did some work last night. It was 
really a great business, and Sumner, whose 
father is, I think, rather a friend of 
yours ' " 

Davies was about to make an apologetic 

" Quite right," declared Mr. Sumner. "Well- 
chosen phrase. Go on, friend Davies." 

" ' Covered himself with glory. L think 

he will be recommended for the Medal. It 
seems he was something of a cricketer in 
days before the war, and he threw his bombs 
last night as though he were sending the ball 
in from long-on. And his example saved the 
situation at a most critical moment. If you 
meet his father, give him this message.' 
There follows," mentioned Davies, 44 what 
I told you, sir, about your lad writing soon. 
My boy adds, ' Private Sumner is very 
popular in the battalion. His father ought 
to be proud of him.' " 

44 His father is." 

44 That's all about your son. The rest of 
it What's wrong, sir? " 

44 Hang it all, Davies," argued Mr. Sumner, 
rubbing his eyes violently, 4< can't a man cry, 
for once in his grown-up life, without you 
calling attention to the fact ? " 

by Google 

Original from 

Supreme Moments 


Detective Fiction. 


Author of " The Marathon Mystery," " The Bouie Cabinet," e.\. 

T is not difficult to account for 
the steady popularity of the 
detective story. The pleasure 
to be had from a good one is 
of a unique and satisfying 
kind. The reader is invited 
to take part in a mathematical 
demonstration, in which the symbols are men 
and women, with just enough of the back- 
ground of life to give them reality. The 
problem to be solved is one of human con- 
duct, and the solution is reached when one 
has found x, the unknown quantity — usually 
the criminal. The task which the author must 
accomplish is to give his readers all the data 
of the problem, and yet to solve it before 
they do. All the data, mind you, or he is 
not playing the game. 

The interest of a detective story is there- 
fore intellectual and not emotional. There 
is no love interest — or, at most, a very slight 
one. For the problem is not to bring two 
loving hearts together, but to land the guilty 
man in jail. To attempt a love interest is to 
run every risk of failure. 

So the detective story has always been 
held to be a man's story rather than a 
woman's. But times change ; and women, 
certainly, are changing with them. They are 
still creatures of the emotions, and no doubt 
always will be, but they are coming to have 
their moments of intellectual detachment. 
Also, they no longer faint at the sight of 
blood. The writer has been in charge of a 
public library for twelve years, and one of 
the most interesting features of that work 
has been to watch the changes in the taste 
of the reading public. It has been full of 
surprises and contradictions, of almost un- 
believable whims and vulgarities, but one 
thing can be said of it with confidence: 

Digitized by G< 

interest in detective fiction has been steadily 
growing, among women even more than 
among men. To-day, in the library, leaving 
adolescents out of the question, there are 
almost as many women as men who ask to 
have a detective story recommended to them. 
Perhaps this is a symptom of their emanci- 
pation ! 

The fact of the matter is that the supply 
no longer equals the demand. Oh, yes, there 
are plenty of detective stories — but how few 
that one can recommend as entirely satisfy- 
ing. The writer has read nearly all that have 
appeared during the past ten years, and yet 
not more than six or eight have left any 
abiding impression. Aside from the Sherlock 
Holmes stories, there are only three that 
provoked re-reading, and on the spur of the 
morhent it is impossible to recall the name of 
the detective in any of them. 

In short, among all the detectives, amateur 
and professional, who have appeared before 
the public and performed their little tricks, 
there are only four who are classic— C. Au^uste 
Dupin(Poe), Tabaret and Lecoq (Gaboriau), 
and Sherlock Holmes. These abide. Beside 
them the others are mere shadows. And these 
four are memorable not because they never 
bungled, not because occasionally they struck 
home with a cleverness and certainty which 
makes us forgive their mistakes. Their 
supreme moments are moments to be remem- 
bered with delight. 

What were their supreme moments ? 

With Dupin, it was undoubtedly the 
moment when, standing before the window 
of the house in the Rue Morgue, he told 
himself that the nail which seemed to secure 
it could not really do so. It was a question, 
you will remember, of how the assassin of 
the two women had escaped. He could not 




have gone by the door, since there were some 
people on the stair ; nor by the chimney, 
since it was too narrow ; nor by the front 
windows, since there was a crowd in the 
street outside. Careful search had failed to 

disclose a secret 
exit. Therefore, 
Dupin reasoned , 
the fugitive 
must have 
passed through 
one of the two 
windows in the 
back room, But 
each of them 
was apparently 
secured on the 
inside by a stout 
nail fitted into 
Let Dupin tell 


a gimlet-hole in the sash. 
the rest :— 

The imirdereri did escape from mw of these windows* 
This beiii*; so, they could not have re fastened the sashes 
from the inside as they ivere found fastened. \\l 
the tubes wert fastened. They must then have the 
jKnver of fastening thenisehts. There tm> no escupe 
I mm this conclusion, I stc[>|**d to the ujiobsirijctctl 
casement, withdrew the nail with some difficulty, and 
attempted to raise the sash. It resisted ;ill my efforts . 
Acoiiceale<l spring must, I now knew, exist, A careful 
varcli soon brought it to light. 

1 now replaced the nail and regarded it attentively- 
A jiersoii passing out through the window might hiue 
re -closed it t and the Spring would have caught ; but 
the nail could not have bwn rej>laced. The assassin 
must, then, have escaped through the other window, 
Supposing the springs upon each sash to he the sunie, 
.is w ; i s probable, there must Ih; found a difference 
1 Ktween the nails, or at least between the modes of 
their fixture. Getting upon the sacking of the lied- 
Mead, I looked over the headboard niiimiely ;it the 
M-coud casement* Passing mv haiul down behind the 
Ifturd. I readily discovered :md pressed the spring, 
^Inch u:i-, ;i* I bad suprwtsed, identical in character 
with its neighbour. I now looked at the nail. It wot 
as stout as the other, and apparently lit ted in the same 
manner* driven in nearly up let the head. 

You will say that I was puzzled ; but if you think 
*<>♦ you must have misunderstood the nature of the 
inductions. To use a sporting phrase, 1 had not once 
been *' at fault." The scent hud never for an instant 
I veil InsL There was no flaw in any link of the 
chain. 1 had traced the secret to its ultimate result ; 
and that result was Ik* ttmt* It had t 1 say, in every 
res | vet the ap[>earance of its fellow in the other window; 
but this fact was an absolute nullity (conclusive as it 
might seem to be) when compared with the considera- 
tion that here at this point terminated the clue. 
* l There must be something wrong," I said* *' about 
the nail.** I touched it, and the head, with about a 
quarter of an inch of the shank* came off in my finger*. 
The rest of the shank was in the gimlet djole. where it 
had been broken off. 

The quotation has been made at length 
because this bit of reasoning is as coherent 
and ,closeIv knit as any detective story can 
&hnw. In fact, " The Murders 

in the Rue 

Morgue " is in many ways the most satis- 
factory of all detective stories. The device 
of the newspaper advertisement to discover 
the identity of the criminal is one which 
Sherlock Holmes used many times. 

And yet there are weak points even in 
this classic. In the first place, there are too 
many clues. The strange voice of the assassin 
and the unusual method of the murders should 
have been clues enough. When Dupin finds 
a tuft of hair between the fingers of one of 
the victims and afterwards picks up a piece 
of greasy ribbon at the foot of the lightning- 
rod by which the murderer escaped, the sense 
of fair play rebels, Furthermore, when Dupin 
goes on to explain that the knot tied in this 
ribbon is one peculiar to Maltese sailors, one 
becomes utterly incredulous. It is unlikely 
that there is a knot peculiar to Maltese 
sailors ; and even if there were, why should 
Dupin happen to know it ? In a word, the 
incident is most improbable. 

For, mind you, the writer of detective 
stories ♦ in developing his plot, must keep 
within the probable — indeed, he should keep 
within the very probable. In life every- 
thing is possible, no coincidence is incredible, 
and chance is always to be reckoned with- 
But in fiction coincidence must be used most 
sparingly, nothing may be left to chance, and 
to say that, in its working out, a detective 
story is possible but not probable is to damn 
it. 'I'liis does not refer to the initial situa- 
tion ; the more unusual that is the better, 
provided the explanation is adequate ; but 
its development must impress the reader as 
inevitable, and the iinvutment must be the 
only one which fits all the circumstances. 

There Is one other particular in which 
Dupin strains the reader's faith. It is not 
easy to believe that he could have followed 
the train of thought passing through his 
companion's mind, as Poe makes him do in 
the first part of the Rue Morgue story. 

One point more. It must be confessed 
that the psychology of '* The Purloined 
Letter " does not entirely convince ; but 
admitting that it is so— admitting that, in 
order to conceal the letter which the police 
sought, the thief would resort to ** the com- 
prehensive and sagacious expedient of not 
attempting to conceal it at all "—it is certain 
that he would not have proceeded as Poe 
makes him do. The letter, it will be remem- 
bered, had been thrust into a card- rack, 
where it remained within full view of everyone 
entering the thief's library. But, before bein# 
placed there, it had been put in a soiled 
and crumpled envelope, torn nearlv in two, 




hearing a large black seal and addressed in 
a woman's hand to the thief. Surely it is 
evident that this soiled, crumpled, and torn 
envelope, so out of place in a well-ordered 
apartment, would have attracted attention 
and awakened curiosity, and that a smooth, 
unsoiled, untorn envelope would have been far 
less likely to do so. " The Purloined Letter," 
however, gives us for the first time what has 
since become one of the stock situations of 
the detective story — that of the regular police, 
baffled and mystified, seeking the advice and 
assistance of the astute amateur. 

Twenty years after Poe's death Emile 
Gaboriau began that series of detective 
stories which still remain, on the whole, the 
best of their class. There is probably no scene 
more satisfying than that in which Tabaret 
arrives at the place of the murder in " The 
Lerouge Case/' and, after a short investiga- 
tion, proceeds to reconstruct the crime. And 
it is in this story that Tabaret reaches his 
supreme moment — the moment when, after 
having bound his chain about his victim, 
assured that there is not a single weak link in 
it, he sees it shiver to pieces. The accused 
man has been arrested, has been taken before 
a magistrate, and, although stunned and in- 
coherent, has doggedly asserted his innocence, 
but has as doggedly refused to say where 
he was on the night of the crime. Finally he 
is led away and Tabaret enters. 

" I have come," he says, 4t to know if any investiga- 
tions are necesrary to demolish the alibi pleaded by 
the prisoner.*' 

44 He pleaded no alibi," the magistrate replies. 

44 What ? No alibi ! " cries the detective. u He 
has, of course, then, confessed everything ? " 

44 No, he has confessed nothing. He acknowledges 
that the proofs are decisive : he cannot give an account 
of how he spent his time, but he protests his innocence." 

Tabaret is thunderstruck — and reaches his 
supreme moment. 

44 Not an alibi ! " he murmurs. ** No explana- 
tions ! It is inconceivable ! We must then be mis- 
taken ; he cannot be- the criminal. That is certain ! " 

The magistrate laughs at him, and Tabaret 
explains that the man who committed this 
crime, so carefully planned, so cleverly carried 
out, so audacious and yet so prudent, would, 
under no circumstances, have failed to pro- 
vide himself with a convincing alibi, and that 
a man who has no alibi cannot possibly be 
the criminal. Still the magistrate laughs, 
and Tabaret proceeds to lay down a principle 
which all writers of detective fiction would 
do well to learn by heart : — 

Given a crimed with all the circumstances and 
details, I construct, bit by bit, a plan of accusation, 
which I do not guarantee until it is entire and perfect. 
If a man is found to whom this plan applies exactly 
in every particular, the author of the crime is found ; 

otherwise one has laid hands upon an innocent person. 
It is not sufficient that such and such particulars seem 
to point to him ; it must be all or nothing. 

Those six words sum up the whole science 
of detection : it must be all or nothing. The 
writer himself dreams of some day writing a 
story in which the edifice of Conviction is 
slowly and carefully built; four-square, like 
the frame of a sky-scraper, with every beam 
tested and every bolt riveted, formidable and 
apparently impregnable, yet with a tiny hidden 
defect which, just as the list bolt is being 
placed, brings the whole structure smashing 
to the ground. That would be worth' doing ! 

In the Lerouge case Tabdret builded such 
an edifice; but Gaboriau carries coincidence 
too far. It is admissible that both the real 
murderer and the man suspected of the 
crime should, on that particular evening, 
have been carrying an umbrella and wearing 
a high hat ; perhaps it is admissible, since 
they are the same age and about the same 
build, that their shoes should be of the same 
size and shape ; but when the author equips 
them both with lavender kid gloves he adds 
one coincidence too many. In his desire to 
strengthen the chain of evidence he over- 
leaps himself and loses the confidence of the 

The question of clues is a most difficult 
one, for every writer of detective fiction is 
faced by this dilemma : The really astute, 
competent, and thoughtful criminal should 
leave no clues, and yet, if none are left, it is 
impossible to apprehend him. A most in- 
structive paper could be written upon this 
subject, for there are legitimate and illegiti- 
mate clues — clues subtle and convincing, and 
clues absurd and illogical. Jo pause only to 
state one axiom : In fiction, at least, the 
name on the card found beside the murdered 
man is never that of the murderer, and the 
writer who seeks to fool the reader by any 
such clumsy device is many, many years 
behind the times. 

Tabaret has a worthy pupil in M. Lecoq, 
although it should not be forgotten that he 
remains a pupil, with many things unlearned, 
to the end of the chapter. Probably his 
greatest moment occurs in * The Mystery of 
Orcival." A murder has been committed 
and a house ransacked, the furniture upset, 
the clock thrown from the mantel. It has 
stopped at twenty minutes past three, and 
to everyone it seems evident that it was at 
that hour the crime occurred. Lecoq replaces 
the clock on the mantel, and slowly pushes 
forward the minute-hand to half-past three* 
The clock strikes eleven; 



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„„„1 *«tih. A=c --- *- -V .*y*^ 

%mw (I** 1 Kirnrhman <ies*rv** — 

*<* m'-szf ^m> T*-r**a in; Shuriodt Holme* 

,,/rrl the fart ±tt. *»'^ >' :w ^'^ 1: * * ™^ * r ^ eai& ^ 

. IH mh moutrh dux ^ -tp-« ^- - ' - - ^ -•-"= * -*mb«oi» ii i««tomte ot 

-*i *»** -p— »-j ■* - s -»% < **•- *-„■«. •■ % ^'*^ *= "iK^tSfr *i tftiss* -tun«k n« writer 
uuiti'ri and tm , •—_ a- - ■ - 

'" must s> wTtr;^ -.■* -'** •""• "-• ' P "* J ^^itittainiiroiBWK 

ii -.,. t * * *L ^- ,* - - ■*- - 1 - -* v ^ '** *** * ***» : ***e **s stunts 

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r^r^i^nfr- Original from 






L-**THE SPECKLED BAND"-"ih* »™i *i*f«? a* the 

Sherlock Holme* fttoriet." 
Z-'THE NAVAL TREATY "-"ihe moil mrtnioin." 
3. -"THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE^-" ih* m who« 

start (he writer likrj beil.** 

fiction who we do not think can be omitted — 
Wilkie Collins. It is true that he created no 
detective whose name, like that of Sherlock 
Holmes, has passed into the language. But, 
in the extreme ingenuity of his mysteries, he 
has great moments— very great* It is not 
easy to surpass^ for instance, the situation 
in ** The Moonstone" in which the hero, 
acting as his own detective, comes upon 
the solution of the crime, the identity 
of the thief who stole the moonstone. 
This is the situation, A 
nightdress worn by the 
criminal, to be identified by 
a smear of wet paint, has 
been buried in a quicksand in 
a tin box attached to a chain, 
and the hero- detective is about 
to pull it up. 

I cook up the stick, and knelt down 
on the brink of the South Spit. 

In this position my face was within 
a few feet of the surface of the quick- 
sand. The sight of it so near rue. still 
disturbed at intervals by its hideous 
shivering fit, shook my nerves for the 

Fkut*. Elliott <t fry, 

"n tlwe Htond to 'The Nival Treaty ' in ingcnuiiy." 

5.- SILVER BLAZE* -"Sherlock HolWi «reit«i 
feal unqu«iti<mibly if in "Silver Blaze/ unr of rh* btil of trie 


moment. A horrible fancy that the dead woman might 
appear on the scene of her suicide to assist my search 
— an unutterable dread of seeing her rise through the 
heaving surface of the sand, and ] joint to the place — 
forced itself into my mind, and turned me cold in the 
warm sunlight. I own I closed my eyes at the moment 
when the |mhuI of the stick first entered the quicksand. 
The instant afterwards, before the stick could have 
been submerged more than a few inches, I was free 
from the hold of my own suj)erslit]ous terror, and 
was throbbing with excitement from head to foot. 
Sounding blindfold, at my first attempt — at that first 
attempt I had sounded right ! The stick struck the 

Taking a firm hold of the roots of 
the seaweed with my left hand, I laid 
myself down over the brink t and felt 
with my right hand under the over- 
hanging edtjes of the rock. My right 
hand found the chain. 

I drew it up without the slightest 
difficulty, and there was the japanned 
tin case fastened to the end of it* 

The action of the water had so 
rusted the chain that it was impos- 
sible for me to unfasten it from the 
hasp which attached it to the case. 
Putting the case between my knees f 
and exerting my utmost strength, 
I contrived to draw off the cover. 
Some while substance idled the whole 




interior when I looked in. I put in my hand, and 
found it to be linen. 

In drawing out the linen, I also drew out a letter 
crumpled up with it. After looking at the direction, 
and discovering that it bore my on me, 1 put the letter 
in my j >ocket, and completely removed (he linen p It 
came out in a thick ro!l T moulded, of course* Co (he 
shape of the case in which it had been so long confined, 
and perfectly preserved from any injury by the sea, 

I carried the linen to the dry sand of the beach, 
and there unrolled and smoothed it out, There was 
no mistaking it as an article of dress. It was a night- 

The uppermost side f when I spread it out, presented 
to view innumerable folds and creases, and nothing 
more. I tried the undermost side next — and instantly 
discovered the smear of the paint from the door of 
Rachel's boudoir ! 

My eyes remained riveted on the stain, and my 
mind took me back at a lea]) from present to past, 
The very words of Sergeant Cuff recurred to me, as 
if the man himself was at my side again, poinling to 
the unanswerable inference which he drew from the 
smear on the door. 

II Find out whether there is any article of dress in 
this house with the stain of paint on it. Find out 
who that dress belongs to. Hnd out how the person 
can account for having been in the room t and 
smeared the paint, between midnight and three in 
the morning. If the ;>crson can't satisfy you, you 
haven't far to look for the hand that took the 
Diamond," ... 

1 had discovered the smear on the nightgown, To 
whom did the nightgown belong ? 

My first impulse was to consult the letter in mv 
pocket— the letter which I had found in the case. 

As I raised my hand to take it out, I remembere I 
that there was a shorter way to discovery than this. 
The nightgown itself would reveal the truth ; for, in 
all probability, the nightgown was marked with i,* 
ow ner's 1 1*1 me. 

I took it up from the sand, and looked for ihe 

I found the mark, and read — 

My Own Name, 

There were the familiar letters which told me that 
the nightgown was mine. I looked up from them. 
There was the sun ; t lie re were the glittering waters 
of the bay ; there was old Betteredge, advancing 
nearer and nearer to me. I looked back again at the 
letters. My own name. Plainly confronting me, my 
own name. 

H If time, pains, and money can do it T I will lay 
my hand on the thief who took the Moonstone/ 1 I hall 
left London with those words on my lips. I had 
penetrated the secret which the quick* and had kep; 
from every other living crea-ture. And, on the my 
answ r erable evidence of the paint-stain, I had discovered 
Myself as the Thief. . . . ' 

The detective comes upon the criminal an:l 
finds — himself ! Surely one of the greatest 
of the supreme moments of detective fiction. 
NOj Wilkie Collins ought not to be left out. 

IIVtKMir Ur ttllHlGA N 





Illust rated by Reginald F. Smith, 

ijr was a smart shop, selling 
high-priced luxuries for our 
personal adornment and con- 
venience* You could buy 
quite a nice dressing-case 
there for eighty guineas, if 
you did not care to pay more. 
Behind its counter there was as a rule a row 
of suave and elegant young men, with a price- 
less gift for hypnotiz- 
ing people into buying 
what they had never 
meant to buy for prices 
which they could not 
afford in an attempt 
—which always failed— 
to avoid the polite 
contempt of the sales- 

But these strenuous 
times had made a 
change. The suave 
and elegant young men 
were far away, and 
doing far more useful 
work, and in their 
place behind the counter 
there were but two 
men, One of them was 
wildly above the mili- 
tary age. The other wis 
young enough, hut he 
suffered from flat-foot, 
varicose veins, house- 
maid's knee, chronic 
asthma, neurasthenia, 
and blindness of the 
right eye. These things 
did not show when 
he was behind the 
counter, but they had 
prevented the acquUi- - she was perhaps 
tion of him bv the War age, and she 

Office, As t however, the shop was at present 
resting on its laurels and doing little or no 
business, this depleted staff sufficed for normal 

But the girl who was at present looking at 
the gold cigarette-cases in the window was 
not perhaps quite normal. Several people had 
expressed with great fervour the opinion that 
she ought not to have been at large. She was 
perhaps fifteen years 
of age, and she was 
pretty. She had dark 
hair and grey eyes, and 
when she spoke an 
expert could detect a 
slight Irish accent. Her 
usual expression was 
one of sweet, simple 
seriousness. As she 
looked into the window 
she had a glimpse of 
the elderly and gentle- 
manly dodderer behind 
the counter, For one 
moment she compressed 
her lips, and a twinkle 
came into her eyes and 
vanished again as swiftly 
as sheet- lightning. She 
gave a little sigh and 
walked into the shop. 
As she climbed up 
on to a chair by the 
counter she looked a 
little awe -struck and 
timorous. The" elderly 
assistant bustled for- 
ward at once, alert and 

i% Good morning, miss. 
Your pleasure ? " 
** It's not pleasure 
was pretty; exactly/' said the girl, 





shyly. " It's more duty. I want a birthday 
present for my grandmamma." 

" I see. Precisely. If I might suggest — 
er — perhaps something in tortoiseshell ? " 

The girl seemed perplexed, swung her 
shapely black legs, and looked down at her 
pretty shoes. 

44 But," she said, " there isn't anything 
in the tortoiseshell, except, of course, the 
tortoise, and grandmamma doesn't care for 
pets. Never has done since the canary died. 
And you don't keep birds." 

The elderly assistant smiled indulgently. 

44 I'm afraid, miss, you didn't quite grasp 
my meaning. What I wished to imply was 
objects made of tortoiseshell — hair-combs, 
card-cases, and such-like. We have them in 
great variety, and find that they always 
please. I may say," he added, confidentially, 
44 that at the present moment any purchase 
of tortoiseshell is a splendid investment. Its 
value may increase twenty-five per cent, in 
a month — owing to the war, of course." 

44 Owing to the war," the girl repeated, 
doubtfully. And then a swift gleam of in- 
telligence passed over her face. 44 Oh, I see. 
All the tortoises are sending their shells to 
the Front." 

So far the young assistant with the many 
complaints had listened with gravity, what 
time he passed a languid wash-leather over 
the gold tops of the smelling-bottles. At this 
moment he suddenly submerged his periscope 
below counter-level, and made a noise like 
soda-water. As he reappeared the elderly 
assistant turned on him a little irritably. 

44 You needn't wait, Mr. Evans. It's after 
your usual time." 

Never did Mr. Evans go to his dinner so 
reluctantly. The elderly man turned again 
to his customer. 

44 Owing to the war," he continued, 
patiently, but with rather a nervous look in 
his eyes — " owing to the war, the supply of 
tortoiseshell has ceased. None is being im- 
ported, so the price is bound to rise. I am 
speaking, of course, of the real tortoiseshell. 
If you wish for something less expensive, 
we also carry a stock of the imitation — hair- 
combs, card-cases, and such-like." 

44 I hardly know what to say," said the 
girl, thoughtfully. " I should like to give 
grandmamma a present, but just now " 

44 Oh, quite so. We find that many of our 
most distinguished customers have to consider 
the money question nowadays — owing to the 
war, of course." 

41 I suppose," said the girl, " it wouldn't 
be possible to get something medium. Real 

tortoise and imitation shell, I mean, or the 
other way round — imitation tortoise but real 

The assistant looked distinctly worried. 

" Clearly not, miss," he said. ct The actual 
tortoise could not be imitation." 

44 No ? " said the girl. 44 You can get mock 
turtle. But I dare say you know best." 

44 And," the assistant went on, 44 a real 
tortoise would necessarily have a real shell." 
* 4I But real people can have false teeth," 
said the girl. 44 However, you're sure to be 
right. I suppose it's owing to the war. 1 hen 
it must be real tortoiseshell." 

44 1 see, miss. Hair-combs ? " 

44 Not hair-combs, I think. You see, it's 
rather difficult to explain. Grandmamma 
hasn't got any hair." 

44 Quite so, quite so. A tasteful little card- 
case ? " 

44 Grandmamma has given up playing 
bridge, owing to the war. I think that what 
she would really like would be a cigarette- 
case. Yes, of course she ought not. But — 
well, she's like that." 

The assistant visibly brightened. Actual 
business seemed to be now in sight. He pro- 
duced four cigarette-cases in the most genuine 
tortoiseshell. They were all expensive enough 
to frighten you, and the girl went without 
hesitation to the most expensive of the lot. 

She asked the price, and never flinched when 
it was disclosed. 

44 I'm sure," she said, 44 that is the one which 
grandmamma would prefer." 

44 It would make a quite important and 
very distinctive present," said the assistant, 

44 That's just what I feel about it myself," 
said the girl, fervently. 44 And I suppose you 
could engrave the coat of arms on it ? " 

44 Naturally. We are constantly executing 
work of this kind." 

44 And let me have it by three this after- 
noon ? " 

44 1 couldn't promise it," said the assistant, 
candidly. 44 It might be ready and it might 
not. I shouldn't like to disappoint you. In 
the ordinary way, we have a large expert 
staff to deal with this class of work. But 
owing to the war " 

44 Yes, of course," said the girl, sympa- 
thetically; 44 I quite understand that." 

44 What I would suggest is that you should 
offer this — er — this little offering on her lady- 
ship's birthday, and have the engraving work 
executed subsequently. Needless to say, we 
should not detain the case one minute longer 
than was absolutely necessary for her ladv- 




ship's satisfaction. But all heraldic work 
demands the utmost accuracy in detail, and 
we have not our usual number of first- class 
workmen — -owing to the war. J ' 

" Never mind, 1 ' said the girl " I should 
lik i that I'Lisc." 

" Very good, miss. And would you wish to 
pay for it or to have it entered ? " 

The girl said that she had no family, except 
grandmamma, who never went out. But she 

of references 
England, th< 
Gordon Self 

offered , rather glibly , a list 
They included the Bank of 
Bishop of London, and Mr, 

14 Would .these do ? " she asked, 
11 Absolutely. More than sufficient 



[L I should prefer to have it entered." 
,( Certainly, miss. No doubt your family 
deals with us. Otherwise wc should, as a 
purely formal matter require one or two 

by Google 

I 1 rouble you for the address 
to which the case should be 
sent ? " 

lie folded back a leaf of his 
not 1 book , and touched his pencil- 
point with his tongue, 

* just one moment/' said the 
girl ll If I pay for it, it will 
be paid." 
" Precisely." 

" But if 1 have it entered it 
yvill be owing," 
61 Quite so." 

11 Well, put it down as owing 
— owing to the war. Good 

She paused a second as she 
went out, and suddenly assumed 
the voice with which we have become 
familiar o%cr the telephone. 
*' Sorry you've been troubled /* she added. 
And she never stopped laughing till she got 
to South Kensington, 



Vv ritten and Illustrated ty Hayward Young. 

The following is the story — as told in Lempri^re's Classical Dictionary — which 
is related in his own racy style by the speaker — a worthy son of toil- -in the 
accompanying verses : — 

Prometheus surpassed all mankind in cunning and fraud. He ridiculed the gods and deceived Jupiter 
himself. He sacrificed two bulls and filled their skins, one with the flesh and the other with the bones, and 
asked the father of (he gods which of the two he preferred as an offering Jupiter became the dupe of his 
artifice and chose the bones, and from that time the priests of rhe Temple were ever after ordered to burn 
the whole victims on the altars, the flesh and the bones all together. To punish Prometheus and the rest of 
mankind, Jupiter took fire away from the earth, But the son of lapetus outwitted the father of the gods. He 
climbed the heavens by the assistance of Minerva and stole fire from the chariot of the sun, which he 
brought down upon the earth at the end of a ferula, This provoked Jupiter the more. He ordered Vulcan 
to make a woman of clay, and, after he had given her life, sent her to Prometheus with a box of the richest 
and most valuable presents which she had received from the gods. Prometheus, who suspected Jupiter, 
took no notice of Pandora or her box, but made his brother Epimetheus marry her, and the god, now more 
irritated, ordered Mercury — or Vulcan, according to /Eschylus— to carry this artful mortal to Mount 
Caucasus, and there tie him to a rock, where for thirty thousand years a vulture was to feed upon his 
liver, which was never diminished, though continually devoured. 

" So you're the htrytoory gent 

" Wot's come ter write about this spot? 
We 'ad one once who came and went 
Without a- pay in" of /is shot. 

[You'd never do* the likes, I'm sure ; 
Not even if you was as poor.) 

y t%- 

" This writer-chap he always took, 

And carried with 'im'. where he went, 
A clarssy sort o' read in 'book. 

On which 'is mind was always bent - 
A book as you don't often see. 
Called ' Lumpry 1 fairy's Dickshunry. 

' Well, as I says, he went away , 

As you might say h he took 'is 'ook t 
But all 'e left behind for pay 

Was just that clarssy readin' book, 
1 lodged and boarded him, you see, 
A week, for that there Dkkshunry. 

Not as I mind, a hit — oh, no ! - 

About 'ini takin' oi 'is 'ook : 
I'm glad he did ; for I can show 
, There's quite a fortun' in that book. 

It's worth five bob a week to me. 

Is Lumpry Hairy 's Dickshunry 

"J! .J JJIF 

" ■ ^■- ■ r 




o/# *■' — f ft f 

- * 

. S 

*" * *?f b ^-*<n*f *-*£ 


J. # 

Just think of fourteen pints o' beer: 

Two pints a day I h rn stood, at least, 
By folks wot comes from far and near, 
To get a Litrytoory Feast. 

(They're apicey, clarssv yarns you see, 
I spin 'em frym my Dickshunry,) 

irigi rial from 




There's bacca now — I fancies twist : 

And smokes at least a no u nee a day. 
I reckon that comes in the list 
Of wot I'm stood I rarely pay 
Far beer or bacca. So you see 
The value of that Dickshunry. 

You know the little Read in' Room 
At Bethel Chapel, up our street. 
It started with a fair old boom, 
Improvin' of our minds h a treat. 

(Tho' ' Christy's Organ's ' lent 'cm free, 
They much prefer my Dickshunry.) 

An' now I'm makin" quite a name 

For tales of clarssy heath un gods. 
I never tells two yarns the same 
Up at the Crooked Stick and Pods, 
Where in the snug we'll all discuss 
To-morrow night, ' Promeethurus.' 

Now all the men from near and far 

Will come to hear this famous tale* 
You'll see me smokin' a cigar, 
An" chaps a-treatin' me to ale. 

Last week I lectured 'em quite free, 
On ' Venus risin J from the Sea/ 

So to the Crooked Stick and Pods 

I hope you'll come to-rnorrer night. 
An' 'ear me lectur" on the gods 
Wot lives on the Olimpin height. 

All wot I've lern'd by heart, you see, 
From Lumpry Hairy 's Dickshunry. 

1 Good evenin', sir, I'm glad you're *ere, 

An' just in time to stand a drink. 
To-night I'm takin' four-X beer, 
Because it "elps me 'ead to think. 
I've saved your seat, sir, over there, 
And next the sexton, in the chair, 

Now everybody fill yer jugs! 

I'm just a-goin' to begin ! 
An' make no clatter with your mugs 
When once I've started lee t arm'. 
An' don't yer make no sort o' fuss- 
My tale's about Pro-mee-thur-us. 

Well, fifty million years ago 

There lived a fair-down comic chap, 
A crafty, cunnin' sort, you know, 
The sort wot doesn t care a rap. 
I couldn't tell you what a fraud 
He was, if twenty years I jawed. 

' In them there days, it seems as 'ow 

It was the rule to saceriftce 
Unto the gods a hull or cow; 

W'ich must be done at any price. 
An' this is where Promeethurus, 

i -hisself a fraudfuiWtJISIII 


An mis is 

Vol. Im.-a 



On Jupiter *e plays a trick 

About that sac rifice, I owns: 
In fact, he done 'im proper thick. 
By nilin' one bull's skin wi' bones* 
The other skin he rills wi' meat, 
A a* so 'e done h im down a treat. 

' To Jupiter, he says, says he, 

' I've built a alter up wi' stones; 
Which carcass p as it got ter be ? ' 
An' Jupiter, he chose (he bones I 
So Jupiter wos proper mad, 
To think as ow J e 'ad been 'ad. 



L Then Jupiter, he ups and he 

Says, ' Dang it all ! He's raised me ire! 
I'll teach 'im to play tricks on me! 
I'll clear the world of warm in" fire ! 
I'll make "im feel the cold, the? CUSS I 
I'll freeze that there Pronicethums! 

' I'll not be done agen, at least 

By such a crafty son o" sin, 
I'll order every temple priest 

To burn the bones an' meat an* skin ! ' 
Hut ' Prom my,* in *is cheek 'c sticks 
His tongue, an" plans some further tricks. 

Promecthurus, he feels the cold, 

So to Mi nerve r orf 'c goes, 
An' says. * If I may be so bold, 

I'd like some fire to warm me toes.' 

(What ! Who's Minerver t Shes all right ! 
I'll talk of 'er another night,) 

Savs he p ' III bet ycr ten to seven, 

That, with your VI p, it can be done. 
I'll sneak the lire right out of heaven 
Wots in the chary it of the sun.' 

So with her 'elp lie climbs up quick, 
An' brings some lire down on a stick. 

" Then Jupiter was madder still 
Than H c 'ad ever been before, 
An' says, F I'll put 'im thro p the mill! 
I'll send "im hfty million score 
Of troubles, done up in a box. 
just see 'im jump when it unlocks! * 

An' then 'e calls to Vulcan, ' Hey f 
Come 'ere T you ^ammy-legg'd 'un, quick! 
An 1 make a woman out i*' clay, 
To carry out my little trick.' 

So Vulcan from the clay he knocks 
A woman, for to cart that box. 

"Then Jupiter says t 'Set 'er up! 

I'm £oin' to breathe, an' give Vr life, 
And send 'er to that cheeky pup 
Wot stole my fire to be 1 is wife. 
He'll think 'e's got a proper cop. 

CBut that Itheer boxll make 'ifirtaflP&t fro 




*' Now ' Prommy,' when he'd warmed 'is toes 
With fire he'd collar 'd from the sun, 
Grew spishus like, because 'e knows 
He'll cop it ot for wot he dime. 

So when Pandofer comes art' knocks, 
He shouts, * Clear out ! an d tek yer box ! ' 

" Don't interrupt me! Watcher say ? 

Was that the woman's proper name ? 
Pandorer ? Yes. Made out o' clay 

By Vulcan I He's the chap wot's lame. 
(So keep good order in the room \ 
Because I'm goin" to resoom.) 

4T Prom eet hums, the artful fox. 

Fights shy l and doesn't take "er on. 
He 'ad r is doubts about that box ; 
That's why '« told er to be gone, 
Then kids his brother on, to wed 
Pandorer — and 'er box - instead. 

" Then Jupiter, 'e raged and swore. 

An' chucked 'is thunderbolts about. 
An* in his rage 'e even tore 

His 'air and plucked 'is whiskers out + 
Says he to Vulcan, ' Take that cuss. 
And cliain "im to Blount Cork-a-sus \ 

" ' He done me down about that bull ! 
He done me down about that box! 
I've 'ad about a stummick full 3 
So take an' chain 'im to the rocks ! 
An 1 there a eagle shall 'im peck! 
So chain *is 'ands and feet an' neck ! 

" ■ 111 stop 'is tricks, likewise his jeers. 
The crafty, cunnin'. leerin' lout ! 
I'll make— for thirty thousand years — 
A eagle peck 'is liver out ! 

No more my livin' fire he'll steal. 
He's doomed to be a eagle's meal 1 ' 

" Now after thirty years or so. 

As he'd been chained up to them rocks, 
Brave Herculees 'e let liim go, 

And on the *cad the eagle knocks. 

(And so ( my friends, 'ere ends my tale, 
I'm dry, so order mc some ale \) " 



Original from 



— ^ — — - -— 





Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood. 

Lord Dawlish, the possessor of a moneyless jitle, has made up his mind to try his luck in America, when 
he is astonished to learn that a wealthy American friend, Ira J. Nut combe, has died and left him his 
entire fortune, disowning his nephew and niece, his only relatives. Being a "good sort/' and disliking 
the idea of accepting a fortune on these terms. Lord Dawlish decides to visit the rightful heirs — Elizabeth 
and Nutcombe Boyd — with the idea of sharing the money with them. So he sets out for America, not 
knowing that his fiancee, Claire Fenwick, an actress, is also en route for New York, on a brief visit to 

Lady Wetherby, an old theatrical friend. 

HE village of Brookport, Long 
Island, is a summer place. It 
lives, like the mosquitoes that 
infest it, entirely on its summer 
visitors. At the time of the 
death of Mr. Ira Nutcombe, the 
only all -the -year-round inhabi- 
tants were the butcher, the 
grocer, the chemist, the other customary fauna 
of villages, and Miss Elizabeth Boyd, who 
rented the ramshackle farm known locally as 
Flack's and eked out a precarious livelihood by 
keeping bees. 

If you take down your " Encyclopaedia 
Britannica " — Volume III., Aus to Bis, you 
will find that bees are a " large and natural 
family of the zoological order Hymenoptera, 
characterized by the plumose form of many of 
their hairs, by the large size of the basal seg- 
ment of the foot . . . and by the development 
of a * tongue ' for sucking liquid food," the last 
of which peculiarities, it is interesting to note, 
they shared with Claude Nutcombe Boyd, 
Elizabeth's brother, who for quite a long time — 
till his money ran out — had made liquid food 
almost his sole means of sustenance. These 
things, however, are by the way. We are not 
such snobs as to think better or worse of a bee 
because it can claim kinship with the Hytnen- 
optera family, nor so ill-bred as to chaff it for 
having large feet. The really interesting pas- 
sage in the article occurs later, where it says : 
" The bee industry prospers greatly in America." 
This is one of those broad statements that 
invite challenge. Elizabeth Boyd would have 
challenged it. She had not prospered greatly. 
With considerable trouble she contrived to pay 
her way, and that was all. 


Again referring to the " Encyclopaedia," we 
find the words : " Before undertaking the 
management of a modern apiary, the beekeeper 
should possess a certain amount of aptitude 
for the pursuit." This was possibly the trouble 
with Elizabeth's venture, considered from a 
commercial point of view. She loved bees, but 
she was not an expert on them. She had started 
her apiary with a small capital, a book of 
practical hints, and a second-hand queen, 
principally because she was in need of some 
occupation that would enable her to live in the 
country. It was the unfortunate condition of 
Claude Nutcombe which made life in the country 
a necessity. At that time he was spending the 
remains of the money left him by his aunt, and 
Elizabeth had hardly settled down at Brookport 
and got her venture under way when she found 
herself obliged to provide for Nutty a combina- 
tion of home and sanatorium. It had been the 
poor lad's mistaken view that he could drink 
up all the alcoholic liquor in America. 

It is a curious law of Nature that the most 
undeserving brothers always have the best 
sisters. Thrifty, plodding young men, who get 
up early, and do it now, and catch the employer's 
eye, and save half their salaries, have sisters 
who never speak civilly to them except when 
they want to borrow money. To the Claude 
Nutcombes of the world are vouchsafed the 

The great aim of Elizabeth's life was to make 
a new man of Nutty. It was her hope that the 
quiet life and soothing air of Brookport, with — 
unless you counted the money-in-the-slot musical 
box at the store— its absence of the fiercer 
excitements, might in time pull him together 
and unscramble his disordered nervous system. 
She liked to lister, of a. morning tj the sound of 



Nutty busy in the next room with a broom and 
a dustpan, for in the simple lexicon of Flack's 
there was no such word as " help." The privy 
purse would not run to a maid. Elizabeth did 
the cooking and Claude Nuttombe the house- 

Several days after Claire Fen wick and Lord 
Dawlish, by di tie rent routes, had sailed from 
England, Elizabeth Boyd sat up in bed and 
shook her mane of hair from her eyes, yawning. 
Outside her window the birds were singing, and 
a shaft of sunlight intruded itself beneath the 
blind. But what definitely convinced her that 
it was time to get up was the plaintive note of 
James, the cat, patrolling the roof of the porch. 
An animal of regular habits, James always called 
for breakfast at eight- thirty sharp. 

Elizabeth got out of bed, wrapped her small 
body in a pink kimono, thrust her small feet 
into a pair of blue slippers, yawned again, and 
went downstairs. Having taken last night's 
milk from the ice-box, she went to the back 
door, and, having filled James's saucer, stood on 
tlie grass beside it, snimng the morning air. 

Elizabeth Boyd was twenty -one, but standing 
there with her hair tumbling about her shoulders 
she might have been taken by a not-too-clitsu 
observer for a child. It was only when you saw 
her eyes and the resolute tilt of the chin that 
you realized that she w T as a young woman very 
well able to take care of herself in a difficult 
world. Her hair was very fair, her eyes brown 
and very bright, and the contrast was extra- 
ordinarily piquant. They were valiant eyes, 
full of spirit ; eyes, also, that saw the humour 
of things. And her mouth was the mouth of 
one who laughs easily. Her chin, small like 
the rest of her, was strong ; and in the way she 
held herself there was a boyish jauntiness. She 
looked — and was — a capable little person. 

She stood beside James like a sentinel, watch- 
ing over him as he breakfasted. There was a 
puppy belonging to one of the neighbours who 
sometimes lumbered over and stole James's 
milk, disposing of it in greedy gulps while its 
rightful proprietor looked on with piteous help- 
lessnesss. Elizabeth was fond of the puppy, 
but her sense of justice was keen and she was 
there to check this brigandage. 









It was a perfect day, cloudless and still. 
There was peace in the air. James, having 
finished his milk, began to wash himself. A 
squirrel climbed cautiously down from a linden 
tree. From the orchard came the murmur of 
many bees. 

^Esthetically Elizabeth was fond of still, 
cloudless days, but experience had taught her 
to suspect them. As was the custom in that 
locality, the water supply depended on a rickety 
wind-wheel. It was with a dark foreboding 
that she returned to the kitchen and turned on 
one of the taps. For perhaps three seconds a 
stream of the dimension of a darning-needle 
emerged, then with a sad gurgle the tap relapsed 
into a stolid inaction. There is no stolidity so 
utter as that of a waterless tap. 

" Confound it ! " said Elizabeth. 

She passed through the dining-room to the 
foot of the stairs. 

" Nutty ! " 

There was no reply. 

" Nutty, my precious lamb ! " 

Upstairs in the room next to her own a long, 
spare form began to uncurl itself in bed ; a face 
with a receding chin and a small forehead raised 
itself reluctantly from the pillow, and Claude 
Nutcombe Boyd signalized the fact that he was 
awake by scowling at the morning sun and 
uttering an aggrieved groan. 

Alas, poor Nutty ! This was he whom but 
yesterday Broadway had known as the Speed 
Kid, on whom head-waiters had smiled and 
lesser waiters fawned ; whose snake-like form 
had nestled in so many a front-row orchestra 

Where were his lobster Newburgs now, his 
cold quarts that were wont to set the table in 
a roar ? 

Nutty Boyd conformed as nearly as a human 
being may to Euclid's definition of a straight 
line. He was length without breadth. From 
boyhood's early day he had sprouted like a 
weed, till now in the middle twenties he gave 
startled strangers the conviction that it only 
required a sharp gust of wind to snap him in 
half. Lying in bed, he looked more like a length 
of hose-pipe than anything else. While he was 
unwinding himself the door opened and Elizabeth 
came into the room. 

" Good morning, Nutty ! " 

" What's the time ? " asked her brother, 

" Getting on toward nine. It's a lovely day. 
The birds are singing, the bees arc buzzing, 
summer's in the air. It's one of those beautiful, 
shiny, heavenly, gorgeous days." 

A look of suspicion came into Nutty's eyes. 
Elizabeth was not often as lyrical as this. 

" There's a catch somewhere," he said. 

" Weil, as a matter of fact," said Elizabeth, 
carelessly, " the water's off again." 

" Confound it ! " 

" I said that. I'm afraid we aren't a very 
original family." 

" What a ghastly place this is ! Why can't 
vou see old Flack and make him mend that 
infernal wheel ? " 


" I'm going to pounce on him and hav* 
another try directly I see him. Meanwhile, 
darling Nutty, will you get some clothes on and 
go round to the Smiths and ask them to lend us 
a pailful ? " 

" Oh, gosh, it's over a mile ! " 

" No, no, not more than three-quarters." 

" Lugging a pail that weighs a ton ! The last 
time I went there their dog bit me." 

" I expect that was because you slunk in 
all doubled up, and he got suspicious. You 
should hold your head up and throw your 
chest out and stride up as if you were a military 
friend of the family." 

Self-pity lent Nutty eloquence. 

" For Heaven's sake ! You drag me out of 
bed at some awful hour of the morning when 
a rational person would just be turning in ; 
you send me across country to fetch pailfuls of 
water when I'm feeling like a corpse ; and on 
top of that you expect me to behave like a 
drum -major ! " 

" Dearest, you can wriggle on your tummy, 
if you like, so long as you get the fluid. We 
must have water. I can't fetch it. I'm a 
delicately-nurtured female." 

" We ought to have a man to do these ghastlv 

" But we can't afford one. Just at present 
all I ask is to be able to pay expenses. And, 
as a matter of fact, you ought to be very thankful 
that you have got — " 

" A roof over my head ? I know. You 
needn't keep rubbing it in." 

Elizabeth flushed. 

" I wasn't going to say that at all. What 
a pig you are sometimes, Nutty. As if I wasn't 
only too glad to have you here. What I was 
going to say was that you ought to be very 
thankful that you have got to draw water and 
hew wood- -" 

A look of absolute alarm came into "Nutty's 
pallid face. 

" You don't mean to say that you want 
some wood chopped ? " 

" I was speaking figuratively. I meant 
hustle about and work in the open air. The 
sort of life you are leading now is what million- 
aires pay hundreds of dollars for at these phy- 
sical-culture places. It has been the making 
of you." 

" I don't feel made." 

" Your nerves are ever so much better." 

" They aren't." 

Elizabeth looked at him in alarm. 

" Oh, Nutty, you haven't been — seeing 
anything again, have you ? " 

" Not seeing, dreaming. I've been dreaming 
about monkeys. Why should I dream about 
monkeys if my nerves were all right ? " 

"I often dream about all* sorts of queer 

" Have you ever dreamed that you were 
being chased up Broadway by a chimpanzee 
in evening dress ? " 

" Never mind, dear, you'll be quite all right 
again when yon Iiavs bwn living this life down 

h'-reagfffytaCTYiDp MICHIGAN 


Nutty glared balefully at the ceiling. 

" What's that darned thing up there on the 
ceiling ? It looks like a hornet. How on 
earth do these things get into the house ? " 

" We ought to have nettings. I am going 
to pounce on Mr. Flack about that too." 

" Thank goodness this isn't going to last 
much longer. It's nearly two weeks since 
Uncle Ira died. We ought to be hearing from 
the lawyers any .day now. There might be 
a letter this morning." 

" Do you think he has left us his money? " 

" Do I ? Why, what else could he do with 
it ? We are his only surviving relatives, aren't 
we ? I've had to go through life with a ghastly 
name like Nutcombe as a compliment to him, 
haven't I ? I wrote to him regularly at Christ- 
mas and on his birthday, didn't I ? Well, 
then ! I have a feeling there will be a letter 
from the lawyers to-day. I wish you would 
get dressed and go down to the post-office 
while I'm fetching that infernal water. I 
can't think why the fools haven't cabled. 
You would have supposed they would have 
thought of that." 

Elizabeth returned to her room to dress. 
She was conscious of a feeling that nothing 
was quite perfect in this world. It would be 
nice to have a great deal of money, for she had 
a scheme in her mind which called for a large 
capital ; but she was sorry that it could come 
to her only through the death of her uncle, 
of whom, despite his somewhat forbidding 
personality, she had always been fond. She 
was also sorry that a large sum of money was 
coming to Nutty at that particular point in 
his career, just when there seemed the hope 
that the simple life might pull him together. 
She knew Nutty too well not to be able to 
forecast his probable behaviour under the influ- 
ence of a sudden restoration to wealth. 

While these thoughts were passing through 
her mind she happened to glance out of the 
window. Nutty was shambling through the 
garden with his pail, a bowed, shuffling pillar 
of gloom. As Elizabeth watched, he dropped 
the pail and lashed the air violently for a while. 
From her knowledge of bees ("It is needful 
to remember that bees resent outside inter- 
ference and will resolutely defend themselves," 
" Encyc. Brit.," Vol. III., Aus to Bis) Elizabeth 
deduced that one of her little pets was annoying 
him. This episode concluded, Nutty resumed 
his pail and the journey, and at this moment 
there appeared over the hedge the face of 
Mr. John Prescott, a neighbour. Mr. Prescott, 
who had dismounted from a bicycle, called 
to Nutty and waved something in the air. To 
a stranger the performance would have been 
obscure, but Elizabeth understood it. Mr. 
Prescott was intimating that he had been down 
to the post-office for his own letters and, as was 
his neighbourly custom on these occasions, had 
brought back also letters for Flack's. 

Nutty foregathered with Mr. Prescott and 
took the letters from him. Mr. Prescott dis- 
appeared. Nutty selected one of the letters 
and opened it. Then, having stood perfectly 

still for some moments, he suddenly turned 
and began to run towards the house. 

The mere fact that her brother, whose usual 
mode of progression was a languid saunter, 
should be actually running, was enough to tell 
Elizabeth that the letter which Nutty had 
read was from the London lawyers. No other 
communication could have galvanized him 
into such energy. Whether the contents of 
the letter were good or bad it was impossible 
at that distance to say. But when she reached 
the open air, just as Nutty charged up, she saw 
by his face that it was anguish not joy that 
had spurred him on. He was gasping and he 
bubbled unintelligible words. His little eyes 
gleamed wildly. 

" Nutty, darling, what is it ? " cried Elizabeth, 
every maternal instinct in her aroused. 

He was thrusting a sheet of paper at her, a 
sheet of paper that bore the superscription of 
Nichols, Nichols, Nichols, and Nichols, with a 
London address. 

" Uncle Ira " Nutty choked. " Twenty 

pounds ! He's left me twenty pounds, and all 
the rest to a — to a man named Dawlish ! " 

In silence Elizabeth took the letter. It was 
even as he had said. A few moments before 
Elizabeth had been regretting the imminent 
descent of wealth upon her brother. Now 
she was inconsistent enough to boil with rage 
at the shattering blow which had befallen him. 
That she, too, had lost her inheritance hardly 
occurred to her. Her thoughts were all for 
Nutty. It did not need the sight of him, 
gasping and gurgling before her, to tell her 
how overwhelming was his disappointment. 

It was useless to be angry with the deceased 
Mr. Nutcombe. He was too shadowy a mark. 
Besides, he was dead. The whole current of 
her wrath turned upon the supplanter, this 
Lord Dawlish. She pictured him as a crafty 
adventurer, a wretched fortune-hunter. For 
some reason or other she imagined him a sinister 
person with a black moustache, a face thin 
and hawklike, and unpleasant eyes. That was 
the sort of man who would be likely to fasten 
his talons into poor Uncle Ira. 

She had never hated anyone in her life before, 
but as she stood there at that moment she 
felt that she loathed and detested William 
Lord Dawlish — unhappy, well-meaning Bill, 
who only a few hours back had set foot on 
American soil in his desire to nose round and 
see if something couldn't be arranged. 

Nutty fetched the water. Life is like that. 
There is nothing clean-cut about it, no sense 
of form. Instead of being permitted to con- 
centrate his attention on his tragedy Nutty had 
to trudge three-quarters of a mile, conciliate a 
bull-terrier, and trudge back again carrying a 
heavy pail. It was as if one of the heroes of 
Greek drama, in the middle of his big scene, 
had been asked to run round the corner to a 
provision store. 

The exercise did not act as a restorative. 
The blow had been too sudden, too overwhelming. 
Nutty 's reason— such as it was — tottered on 
its thffl^^^^^pr^l (Ij^lrji Dawlish ? What 



by Google 

Original from 



in a chair. There was silence in the stricken 

" What's the time ? " 

Elizabeth glanced at her watch. 

" Half -past nine." 

" About now/' said Nutty, sepulchrally, " the 
blighter is ringing for his man to prepare 
his bally bath and lay out his gold-leaf under- 
wear. After that he will drive down to the 
bank and draw some of our money." 

The day passed wearily for Elizabeth. Nutty 
having the air of one who is still engaged in 
picking, up the pieces, she had not the heart 
to ask him to play his customary part in the 
household duties, so she washed the dishes 
and made the beds herself. After that she 
attended to tha bees. After that she cooked 

Nutty was not chatty at lunch. Having 
observed " About now the blighter is cursing 
the waiter for bringing the wrong brand of 
champagne," he relapsed into a silence which 
he did not again break. 

Elizabeth was busy again in the afternoon. 
At four o'clock, feeling tired out, she went to 
her room to lie down until the next of her cycle 
of domestic duties should come round. 

It was late when she came downstairs, for she 
had fallen asleep. The sun had gone down. 
Bees were winging their way heavily back 
to the hives with their honey. She went out 
into the grounds to try to find Nutty. There 
had been no signs of him in the house. There 
were no signs of him about the grounds. It 
was not like him to have taken a walk, but it 
seemed the only possibility. She went back 
to the house to wait. Eight o'clock came, 
and nine, and it was then the truth dawned 
upon her — Nutty had escaped. He had slipped 
away and gone up to New York. 


Lord Dawlish sat in the New York fiat which 
had been lent him by his friend Gates. The 
hour was half-past ten in the evening ; the 
day, the second day after the exodus of Nutty 
Boyd from the farm. Before him on the table 
lay a letter. He was smoking pensively. 

Lord Dawlish had found New York enjoyable, 
but a trifle fatiguing. There was much to be 
seen in the city, and he had made the mistake 
of trying to see it all at once. It had been his 
intention, when he came home after dinner 
that night, to try to restore the balance of 
things by going to bed early. He had sat 
up longer than he had intended, because he 
had been thinking about this letter. 

Immediately upon his arrival in America, 
Bill had sought out a lawyer and instructed him 
,to write to Elizabeth Boyd, offering her one-half 
of the late Ira Nutcombe's money. He had had 
time during the voyage to think the whole 
matter over, and this seemed to him the only 
possible course. He could not keep it all. He 
would feel like the despoiler of the widow and 
the orphan. Nor would it be fair to Claire to 
give it all up. If he halved the legacy everybody 
would be satisfied. 

That at least had been his view until Eliza- 
beth's reply had arrived. It was this reply 
that lay on the table^ — a brief, formal note, 
setting forth Miss Boyd's absolute refusal to 
accept any portion of the money. This was a 
development which Bill had not foreseen, 
and he was feeling baffled. What was the 
next step ? He had smoked many pipes in 
the endeavour to find an answer to this problem, 
and was lighting another when the door-bell 
rang. . 

He opened the door and found himself con- 
fronting an extraordinarily tall and thin young 
man in evening-dress. 

Lord Dawlish was a little startled. He had 
taken it for granted, when the bell rang, »that 
his visitor was* Tom, the liftman from down- 
stairs, a friendly soul who hailed from London 
and had been dropping in at intervals during 
the past two days to acquire the latest news 
from his native land. He stared at this change- 
ling inquiringly. The solution of the mystery 
came with the stranger's first words : — 

" Is Gates in ? " 

He spoke eagerly, as if Gates were extremely 
necessary to his well-being. It distressed Lord 
Dawlish to disappoint him, but there was nothing 
else to be done. 

" Gates is in London," he said. 

" What ! When did he go there ? " 

" About four months ago." 

" May I come in a minute ? " 

" Yes, rather, do." 

He led the way into the sitting-room. The 
stranger gave abruptly in the middle, as if 
he were being folded up by some invisible 
agency, and in this attitude sank into a chair, 
where he lay back looking at Bill over his knees, 
like a sorrowful sheep peering over a sharp- 
pointed fence. 

" You're from England, aren't you ? " 

" Yes." 

" Been in New York long ? " 

" Only a couple of days." 

The stranger folded himself up another foot 
or so until his knees were higher than his head, 
and lit a cigarette. 

" The curse of New York,", he said, mourn- 
fully, " is the way everything changes in it. 
You can't take your eyes off it for a minute. The 
population's always shifting. It's like a railway 
station. You go away for a bit and come 
back and try to nnd your old pals, and they're 
all gone: Ike's in Arizona, Mike's in a sana- 
torium, Spike's in jail, and nobody seems to 
know where the rest of them have got to. I 
came up from the country two days ago, expect- 
ing to find all the old gang along Broadway 
the same as ever, and I'm dashed if I've been 
able to put my hands on one of them ! Not 
a single, solitary one of them ! And it's only 
six months since I was here last." 

Lord Dawlish made sympathetic noises. 

" Of course," proceeded the other, " the time 
of year may have something to do with it. 
Living down in the country you lose count of 
time, and I forgot that it was July, when people 
go out of the city. I guc:>s that must be what 



happened. I used to know all sorts of fellows, 
actors and fellows like that, and they're all 
away somewhere. I tell you," he said, with 
pathos, " I never knew I could be so infernally 
lonesome as I have been these last two days. 
If I had known what a rotten time I was going 
to have I would never have left Brookport." 

" Brookport ! " 

" It's a place down on Long Island." 

Bill was not by nature a plotter, but the mere 
fact of travelling under an assumed name had 
developed a streak of wariness in him. He 
checked himself just as he was about to ask 
his companion if he happened to know a Miss 
Elizabeth Boyd, who also lived at Brookport. 
It occurred to him that the question would 
invite a counter-question as to his own know- 
ledge of Miss Boyd, and he knew that he would 
not be able to invent a satisfactory answer to 
that offhand. 

" This evening," said the thin young man, 
resuming his dirge, " I was sweating my brain 
to try to think of somebody I could hunt up 
in this ghastly, deserted city. It isn't so easy, 
you know, to think of fellows' names and 
addresses. I can get the names all right, but 
unless the fellow's in the telephone-book, I'm 
done. Well, I was. trying to think of some of 
my pals who might still be round the place, 
and I remembered Gates. Remembered his 
address, too, by a miracle. You're a pal of 
his, of course ? " 

" Yes, I knew him in London." 

" Oh, I see. And when you came over here 
he lent you his flat ? By the way, I didn't 
get your name ? " 

" My name's Chalmers." 

" Well, as I say, I remembered Gates and 
came down here to look him up. We used to 
have a lot of good times together a year ago. 
And now he's gone too ! " 

" Did you want to see him about anything 
important ? " 

" Well, it's important to me. I wanted him 
to come out to supper. You see, it's this way : 
I'm giving supper to-night to a girl who's in 
that show at the Forty-ninth Street Theatre, 
a Miss Leonard, and she insists on bringing a 
pal. She says the pal is a good sport, which 

sounds all right " Bill admitted that it 

sounded all right. " But it makes the party 
three. And of all the infernal things a party 
of three is the ghastliest." 

Having delivered himself of this undeniable 
truth the stranger slid a little farther into his 
chair and paused. " Look here, what are 
you doing to-night ? " he said. 

" I was thinking of going to bed." 

" Going to bed ! " The stranger's voice 
was shocked, as if he had heard blasphemy. 
" Going to bed at half-past ten in New York I 
My dear chap, #vhat you want is a bit of supper. 
Why don't you come along ? " 

Amiability was, perhaps, the leading quality of 
Lord Dawlish's character. He did not want to 
have to dress and go out to supper, but there was 
something almost pleading in the eyes that looked 
at him between the sharply-pointed knees. 

" It's awfully good of you " He hesi- 

" Not a bit ; I wish you would. You would 
be a life-saver." 

Bill felt that he was in for it. He got up. 

" You will ? " said the other. " Good boy ! 
You go and get into some clothes and come along. 
I'm sorry, what did you say your name was ? " 

" Chalmers." 

" Mine's Boyd — Nutcombe Boyd." 

" Boyd ! " cried Bill. 

Nutty took his astonishment, which was too 
great to be concealed, as a compliment. He 

" I thought you would know the name if 
you were a pal of Gates'. I expect he's always 
talking about me. You see, I was pretty well 
known in this old place before I had to leave 

Bill walked down the long passage to his 
bedroom with no trace of the sleepiness which 
had been weighing on him five minutes before. 
He was galvanized by a superstitious thrill. 
It was fate, Elizabeth Boyd's brother turning 
up like this and making friendly overtures right 
on top of that letter from her. This astonish- 
ing thing could not have been better arranged 
if he had planned it himself. From what 
little he had seen of Nutty he gathered that 
the latter was not hard to make friends with. 
It would be a simple task to cultivate his 
acquaintance. And having done so, he could 
renew negotiations with Elizabeth. The desire 
to rid himself of half the legacy had become a 
fixed idea with Bill. He had the impression 
that he could not really feel clean again until 
he had made matters square with his conscience 
in this respect. He felt that he was probably 
a fool to take that view of the thing, but that 
was the way he was built and there was no 
getting away from it. 

This irruption of Nutty Boyd into his life was 
an omen. It meant that all was not yet over. 
He was conscious of a mild surprise that he 
had ever intended to go to bed. He felt now 
as if he never wanted to go to bed again. He 
felt exhilarated. 

In these days one cannot say that a supper- 
party is actually given in any one place. Supping 
in New York has become a peripatetic pastime. 
The supper-party arranged by Nutty Boyd was 
scheduled to start at Reigelheimer's on Forty- 
second Street, and it was there that the revellers 

Nutty and Bill had been there a few minutes 
when Miss Daisy Leonard arrived with her 
friend. And from that moment Bill was never 
himself again. 

The Good Sport was, so to speak, an outsize 
in Good Sports. She loomed up behind the small 
and demure Miss Leonard like a liner towed by 
a tug. She was big, blonde, skittish, and 
exuberant ; she wore a dress like the sunset of 
a fine summer evening, and she effervesced with 
spacious good will to all men. She was one of 
those girls who splash into public places like 
stones into quiet pools. Her form was large, 
her eyeis were large, b^i|(cHtt)A'M ere * ar 8 e » ano ^ 



her voice was large. She overwhelmed Bill. 
She hit his astounded consciousness like a shell. 
She gave him a buzzing in the ears. She was 
not so much a Good Sport as some kind of an 

He was still reeling from the spiritual impact 
with this female tidal wave when he became 
aware, as one who, coming out of a swoon, 
hears voices faintly, that he was being addressed 
by Miss Leonard. To turn from Miss Leonard's 
friend to Miss Leonard herself was like hearing 
the falling of gentle rain after a thunderstorm. 
For a moment he revelled in the sense of being 
soothed ; then, as he realized what she was 
saying, he started violently. Miss Leonard was 
looking at him curiously. 

" I beg your pardon ? " said Bill. 
" I'm sure I've met you before, Mr. Chalmers." 
" Er— really ? " 
" But I can't think where." 
"I'm sure," said the Good Sport, languish - 
ingly, like a sentimental siege-gun, " that if I 
had ever met Mr. Chalmers before I shouldn't 
have forgotten him." 

" You're English, aren't you ? " asked Miss 
" Yes." 

The Good Sport said she was crazy about 

" I thought so from your voice." 
The Good Sport said that she was crazy about 
the English accent. 

"It must have been in London that I met 
/ou. I was in the revue at the Alhambra last 

" By George, I wish I had seen you ! " inter- 
jected the infatuated Nutty. 

The Good Sport said that she was crazy about 

" I seem to remember," went on Miss Leonard, 
" meeting you out at supper. Do you know a 
man named Delaney in the Coldstream Guards ? " 
Bill would have liked to deny all knowledge 
of Delaney, though the latter was one of his 
best friends, but his natural honesty prevented 

"I'm sure I met you at a supper he gave at 
Oddy's one Friday night. We all went on to 
Covent Garden. Don't you remember ? " 

" Talking of supper," broke in Nutty, earning 
Bill's hearty gratitude thereby, " where's the 
dashed head-waiter ? I want to find my 

He surveyed the restaurant with a melancholy 

" Everything changed ! " He spoke sadly, 
as Ulysses might have done when his boat put 
in at Ithaca. " Every darned thing different 
since I was here last. New waiters, head- 
waiter I never saw before in my life, different- 
coloured carpet " 

" Cheer up, Nutty, old thing ! " said Miss 
Leonard. " You'll feel better when you've 
had something to eat. I hope you had the 
sense to tip the head- waiter, or there won't be 
any table. Funny how these places go up and 
down in New York. A year ago the whole 
management would turn out and kiss you if 

you looked like spending a couple of dollars 
here. Now it costs the earth to get in at all." 

" Why's that ? " asked Nuttv. 

" Lady Pauline Wetherby, of course* Dicln't 
you know this was where she danced ? " 

" Never heard of her," said Nutty, in a sort 
of ecstasy of wistful gloom. " That will show 
you how long I've been away. Who is she ? " 

Miss Leonard invoked the name of Mike. 

" Don't you ever get the papers in your 
village. Nutty ? " 

" I never read the papers. I don't suppose 
I've read a paper for years. I can't stand 'em. 
Who is Lady Pauline Wetherby ? " 

" She does Greek dances— at least, I suppose 
they're Greek. They all are nowadays, unless 
they're Russian. She's an English peeress." 

Miss Leonard's friend said she was crazy 
about these picturesque old English families ; 
and they went in to supper. 

Looking back on the evening later and re- 
viewing its leading features, Lord Dawlish came 
to the conclusion that he never completely 
recovered from the first shock of the Good 
Sport. He was conscious all the time of a 
dream-like feeling, as if he were watching him- 
self from somewhere outside himself. From 
some conning -tower in this fourth dimension 
he perceived himself eating broiled lobster and 
drinking champagne and heard himself bearing 
an adequate part in the conversation ; but his 
movements were largely automatic. 

Time passed. It seemed to Lord Dawlish, 
watching from without, that things were livening 
up. He seemed to perceive a quickening of 
the tempo of the revels, an added abandon. 
Nutty was getting quite bright. He had the 
air of one who recalls the good old days, of one 
who in familiar scenes re-enacts the joys of his 
vanished youth. The chastened melancholy 
induced by many months of fetching of pails 
of water, of scrubbing floors with a mop, and of 
jumping like a firecracker to avoid excited bees 
had been purged from him by the lights and the 
music and the wine. He was telling a long 
anecdote, laughing at it, throwing a crust of 
bread at an adjacent waiter, and refilling his 
glass at the same time. It is not easy to do all 
these things simultaneously, and the fact that 
Nutty did them with notable success was proof 
that he was picking up. 

Miss Daisy Leonard was still demure, but as 
she had just slipped a piece of ice down the 
back of Nutty's neck one may assume that she 
was feeling at her ease and had overcome any 
diffidence or shyness which might have inter- 
fered with her complete enjoyment of the fes- 
tivities. As for the Good Sport, she was larger, 
blonder, and more exuberant than ever, and 
she was addressing someone as " Bill." 

Perhaps the most remarkable phenomenon of 
the evening, as it advanced, was the change it 
wrought in Lord Dawlish's attitude toward this 
same Good Sport. He was not conscious of the 
beginning of the change ; he awoke to the 
realization of it suddenly. At the beginning of 
supper his views on her had been definite and 



clear. When they had first been introduced to 
each other he had had a stunned feeling that 
this sort of thing ought not to be allowed at 
large, and his battered brain had instinctively 
recalled that line of Tennyson : " The curse is 
come upon me." But now, warmed with food 
and drink and smoking an excellent cigar, he 
found that a gentler, more charitable mood had 
descended upon him. 

He argued with himself in extenuation of the 
girl's peculiar idiosyncrasies. Was it, he asked 
himself, altogether her fault that she was so 
massive and spoke as if she were addressing an 
open-air meeting in a strong gale ? Perhaps it 
was hereditary. Perhaps her father had been 
a circus giant and her mother the strong woman 
of the troupe. And for the unrestraint of her 
manner defective training in early girlhood 
would account. He began to regard her with a 
quiet, kindly commiseration, which in its turn 
changed into a sort of brotherly affection. He 
discovered that he liked her. He liked her very 
much. She was so big and jolly and robust, 
and spoke in such a clear, full voice. He was 
glad that she was patting his hand. He was 
glad that he had asked her to call him Bill. 

People were dancing now. It has been 
claimed by patriots that American dyspeptics 
lead the world. This supremacy, though partly 
due, no doubt, to vast supplies of pie absorbed 
in youth, may be attributed to a certain extent 
also to the national habit of dancing during 
meals. Lord Dawlish had that sturdy reverence 
for his interior organism which is the birthright 
of every Briton. And at the beginning of 
supper he had resolved that nothing should 
induce him to court disaster in this fashion. But 
as the time went on he began to waver. 

The situation was awkward. Nutty and 
Miss Leonard were repeatedly leaving the table 
to tread the measure, and on these occasions the 
Good Sport's wistfulness was a haunting le- 
proach. Nor was the spectacle ot Nutty in 
action without its effect on Bill s resolution. 
Nutty dancing was a sight to stir the most 

Bill wavered. The music had started again 
now, one of those twentieth century eruptions 
of sound that beTgin like a train going through 
a tunnel and continue like audible electric 
shocks, that set the feet tapping beneath the 
table and the spine thrilling with an unaccus- 
tomed exhilaration. Every drop of blood in 
his body cried to him " Dance ! " He could 
resist no longer. 

" Shall we ? " he said. 

Bill should not have danced. He was an 
estimable young man, honest, amiable, with 
high ideals. He had played an excellent game 
of football at the university ; his golf handicap 
was plus two ; and he was no mean performer 
with the gloves. But we ail of us have our 
limitations, and Bill had his. He was not a 
good dancer. He was energetic, but he required 
more elbow room than the ordinary dancing 
floor provides. As a dancer, in fact, he closely 
resembled a Newfoundland puppy trying to run 
across a field. 

It takes a good deal to daunt the New York 
dancing man, but the invasion of the floor by 
Bill and the Good Sport undoubtedly caused a 
profound and even painful sensation. Linked 
together they formed a living projectile which 
might well have intimidated the bravest. Nutty 
was their first victim. They caught him in mid- 
step — one of those fancy steps which he was 
just beginning to exhume from the cobwebbed 
recesses of his memory — and swept him 
away. After which they descended resistlessly 
upon a stout gentleman of middle age, chiefly 
conspicuous for the glittering diamonds which 
he wore and the stoical manner in which he 
danced to and fro on one spot of not more than 
a few inches in size in the exact centre of the 
room. He had apparently staked out a claim 
to this small spot, a claim which the other dancers 
had decided to respect ; but Bill and the Good 
Sport, coming up from behind, had him two 
yards away from it at the first impact. Then, 
scattering apologies broadcast like a mediaeval 
monarch distributing largesse, Bill whirled his 
partner round by sheer muscular force and began 
what he intended to be a movement toward the 
farther corner, skirting the edge of the floor. 
It was his simple belief that there was more 
safety there than in the middle. 

He had not reckoned with Heinrich Joerg. 
Indeed, he was not aware of Heinrich Joerg's 
existence. Yet fate was shortly to bring them 
together, with far-reaching results. Heinrich 
J oerg had left the Fatherland a good many years 
before with the prudent purpose of escaping 
military service. After various vicissitudes in 
the land of his adoption — -which it would be 
extremely interesting to relate, but which must 
wait for a more favourable opportunity — -he 
had secured a useful and not ill-recompensed 
situation as one of the staff of Reigelheimer's 
Restaurant. He was, in point of fact, a waiter, 
and he comes into the story at this point bearing 
a tray full of glasses, knives; forks, and pats of 
butter on little plates. He was setting a table 
for some new arrivals, and in order to obtain 
more scope for that task he had left the crowded 
aisle beyond the table and come round to ths 
edge of the dancing-floor. 

He should not have come out on to the 
dancing - floor. In another moment he was 
admitting, that himself. For just as he was 
lowering his tray and bending over the table 
in the pursuance of his professional duties, along 
came Bill at his customary high rate of speed, 
propelling his partner before him, and for the 
first time since he left home Heinrich was 
conscious of a regret that he had done so. There 
are worse things than military service ! 

It was the table that saved Bill. He clutched 
at it and it supported him. He was thus 
enabled to keep the Good Sport from falling 
and to assist Heinrich to rise from the morass 
of glasses, knives, and pats of butter in which 
he was wallowing. Then, the dance having 
been abandoned by mutual consent, he helped 
his now somewhat hysterical partner back to 
their table. 

Re ^flfRfEPSriY19n^hlGKR WM so""* that 




he had danced ; sorry that he had upset 
Heinrich ; sorry that he had subjected the 
iio'd Sport's nervous system to such a strain ; 
sorry that so much glass had been broken and 
so many pats of butter bruised beyond repair. 
13ut of one thing, even in that moment of bleak 
regrets, he was distinctly glad, and that was 

that all these things had taken placp three 
thousand miles away from Claire Fen wick. He 
had not been appearing at his best, and he was 
glad that Claire had not seen him. 

As he sat and smoked the remains of his cigar, 
while renewing hi?i apologies and explanations 
to h^f. ff ^5f T ^p^^| A i|l( e ruffled Nutty 



with well-chosen condolences, he wondered idly 
what Claire was doing at that moment. 

Claire at that moment, having been an 
astonished eye-witness of the whole perform- 
ance, was resuming her seat at a table at the 
other end of the room. 


There were two reasons why Lord Dawlish 
was unaware of Claire Fenwick's presence at 
Reigelheimer's Restaurant : Reigelheimer's is 
situated in a basement below a ten-storey build- 
ing, and in order to prevent this edifice from 
falling into his' patrons' soup the proprietor had 
been obliged to shore up his ceiling with massive 
pillars. One of these protruded itself between 
the table which Nutty had secured for his supper- 
party and the table at which Claire was sitting 
with her friend, Lady Wetherby, and her 
steamer acquaintance, Mr. Dudley Pickering. 
That was why Bill had not seen Claire from 
where he sat ; and the reason that he had not 
seen her when he left his seat and began to 
dance was that he was not one of your dancers 
who glance airily about them. When Bill 
danced he danced. 

He would have been stunned with amaze 
ment if he had known that Claire was at Reigel- 
heimer's that night. And yet it would have 
been remarkable, seeing that she was the guest 
of Lady Wetherby, if she had not been there. 
When you have travelled three thousand miles 
to enjoy the hospitality of a friend who does 
near-Greek dances at a popular restaurant, the 
least you can do is to go to the restaurant and 
watch her step. Claire had arrived with Polly 
Wetherby and Mr. Dudley Pickering at about 
the time when Nutty, his gloom melting rapidly, 
was instructing the waiter to open the second 

Of Claire's movements between the time 
when she secured her ticket at the steamship 
offices at Southampton and the moment when 
she entered Reigelheimer's Restaurant it is not 
necessary to give a detailed record. She had 
had the usual experiences of the ocean voyager. 
She had fed, read, and gone to bed. The only 
notable event in her trip had been her intimacy 
with Mr. Dudley Pickering. 

Dudley Pickering was a middle-aged Middle 
Westerner, who by thrift and industry had 
amassed a considerable fortune out of auto- 
mobiles. Everybody spoke well of Dudley 
Pickering. The papers spoke well of him, 
Bradstreet spoke well of him, and he spoke well 
of himself. On board the liner he had poured 
the saga of his life into Claire's attentive ears, 
and there was a gentle sweetness in her manner 
which encouraged Mr. Pickering mightily, for 
he had fallen in love with Claire on sight. 

It would seem that a schoolgirl in these 
advanced days would know what to do when 
she found that a man worth millions was in 
love with her ; yet there were factors in the 
situation which gave Claire pause. Lord Dawlish, 
of course, was one of them. She had not men- 
tioned Lord Dawlish to Mr. Pickering, and— 
doubtless lest the sight of it might pain him — 

she had abstained from wearing her engagement 
ring during the voyage. But she had not 
completely lost sight of the fact that she was 
engaged to Bill. Another thing that caused her 
to hesitate was the fact that Dudley Pickering, 
however wealthy, was a most colossal bore. 
As far as Claire could ascertain on their short 
acquaintance, he had but one subject of con- 
versation — automobiles. 

To Claire an automobile was a shiny thing 
with padded seats, in which you rode if you 
were lucky enough to know somebody who 
owned one. Sfie had no wish to go more deeply 
into the matter. Dudley Pickering's attitude 
toward automobiles, on the other hand, more 
nearly resembled that of a surgeon toward the 
human body. To him a car was something to 
dissect, something with an interior both interest- 
ing to explore and fascinating to talk about. 
Claire listened with a radiant display of interest, 
but she had her doubts as to whether any amount 
of money would make it worth while to undergo 
this sort of thing for life. She was still in this 
hesitant frame of mind when she entered 
Reigelheimer's Restaurant, and it perturbed her 
that she could not come to some definite decision 
on Mr. Pickering, for those subtle signs which 
every woman can recognize and interpret told 
her that the latter, having paved the way by 
talking machinery for a week, was about to 
boil over and speak of higher things. 

At the very next opportunity, she was certain, 
he intended to propose. 

The presence of Lady Wetherby acted as a 
temporary check on the development of the 
situation, but after they had been seated at their 
table a short time the lights of the restaurant 
were suddenly lowered, a coloured limelight 
became manifest near the roof, and classical 
music made itself heard from the fiddles in the 

You could tell it was classical, because the 
banjo players were leaning back and chewing 
gum ; and in New York restaurants only death 
or a classical speciality can stop banjoists. 

There was a spatter of applause, and Lady 
Wetherby rose. 

" This," she explained to Claire, " is where 
I do my stunt. Watch it. I invented the 
steps myself. Classical stuff. It's called the 
Dream of Psyche." 

It was difficult for one who knew her as Claire 
did to associate Polly Wetherby with anything 
classical. On the road, in England, when they 
had been fellow-members of the Number Two 
company of "The Heavenly Waltz," Polly had 
been remarkable chiefly for a fund of humorous 
anecdote and a gift, amounting almost to genius, 
for doing battle with militant landladies. And 
renewing their intimacy after a hiatus of a little 
less than a year Claire had found her unchanged. 

It was a truculent affair, this Dream of 
Psyche. It was not so much dancing as shadow 
boxing. It began mildly enough to the accom- 
paniment of pizzicato strains from the orchestra. 
— Psyche in her training quarters. Rallentando 
— Psyche punching the bag. Diminuendo — 
Psyche using the medicine ball. Presto — -Psyche 



doing road work. Forte — The night of the fight. 
And then things began to move to a climax. 
With the fiddles working themselves to the 
bone and the piano bounding under its persecu- 
tor's blows, Lady Wetherby ducked, side- 
stepped, rushed, and sprang, moving her arms 
in a manner that may have been classical Greek, 
but to the untrained eye looked much more like 
the last round of some open-air bout. 

It was half-way through the exhibition, when 
you could smell the sawdust and hear the 
seconds shouting advice under the ropes, that 
Claire, who, never having seen anything in her 
life like this extraordinary performance, had 
been staring spellbound, awoke to the realiza- 
tion that Dudley Pickering was proposing to 
her. It required a woman's intuition to divine 
this fact, for Mr. Pickering was not coherent. 
He did not go straight to the point. He rambled. 
But Claire understood, and it came to her that 
this thing had taken her before she was ready. 
In a brief while she would have to give an 
answer of some sort, and she had not clearly 
decided what answer she meant to give. 

Then, while he was still skirting his subject, 
before he had wandered to what he really 
wished to say, the music stopped, the applause 
broke out again, and Lady Wetherby returned 
to the table like a pugilist seeking his corner 
at the end of a round. Her face was flushed 
and she was breathing hard. 

" They pay me money for that ! " she observed, 
genially. " Can you beat it ? " 

The spell was broken. Mr. Pickering sank 
back in his chair in a punctured manner. 
And Claire, making monosyllabic replies to 
her friend's remarks, was able to bend her mind 
to the task of finding out how she stood on 
this important Pickering issue. That he would 
return to the attack as soon as possible she knew ; 
and the next time she must have her attitude 
clearly defined one way or the other. 

Lady Wetherby, having got the Dance of 
Psyche out of her system, and replaced it 
with a glass of iced coffee, was inclined for 

" Algie called me up on the 'phone this evening, 

" Yes ? " 

Claire was examining Mr. Pickering with 
furtive side glances. He was not handsome, 
nor, on the other hand, was he repulsive. 
" Undistinguished " was the adjective that 
would have described him. He was inclined 
to stoutness, but not unpardonably so ; his 
hair was thin, but he was not aggressively 
bald ; his face was dull, but certainly not 
stupid. There was nothing in his outer man 
which his milUons would not offset. As regarded 
his other qualities, his conversation was cer- 
tainly not exhilarating. But that also was 
not, under certain conditions, an unforgivable 
thing. No, looking at the matter all round 
and weighing it with care, the real obstacle, 
Claire decided, was not any quality or lack of 
'qualities in Dudley Pickering — it was Lord 
Dawlish and the simple fact that it would be 
extremely difficult, if she discarded him in 

favour of a richer man without any ostensible 
cause, to retain her self-respect. 

" I think he's weakening." 

" Yes ? " 

Yes, that was the crux of the matter. She 
wanted to retain her good opinion of herself. 
And in order to achieve that end it was essential 
that she find some excuse, however trivial, 
for breaking off the engagement. 

" Yes ? " 

A waiter approached the table. 

" Mr. Pickering ! " 

The thwarted lover came to life with a 

" Eh ? " 

" A gentleman wishes to speak to you on the 

" Oh, yes. I was expecting a long-distance 
call, Lady Wetherby, and left word I would 
be here. Will you excuse me ? " 

Lady Wetherby watched him as he bustled 
across the room. 

" What do you think of him, Claire ? " 

" Mr. Pickering ? I think he's very nice." 

" He admires you frantically. I hoped he 
would. That's why I wanted you to come 
over on the same ship with him." 

" Polly ! I had no notion you were such a 

" I would just love to see you two hx it up," 
continued Lady Wetherby, earnestly. " He 
may not be what you might call a genius, 
but he's a darned good sort ; and all his millions 
help, don t they ? You don't want to overlook 
these millions, Claire ! " 

" I do like Mr. Pickering." 

" Claire, he asked me if you were engaged." 

" What ! " 

" When I told him you weren't, he beamed. 
Honestly, you've only got to lift your little 
finger and Oh, good Lord, there's Algie ! " 

Claire looked up. A dapper, trim little 
man of about forty was threading his way 
among the tables in their direction. It was a 
year since Claire had seen Lord Wetherby, 
but she recognized him at once. He had a 
red, weather-beaten face with a suspicion of 
side- whiskers, small, pink-rimmed eyes with 
sandy eyebrows, the smoothest of sandy hair, 
and a chin so cleanly shaven that it was difficult 
to believe that hair had ever grown there. 
Although his evening-dress was perfect in every 
detail, he conveyed a subtle suggestion of 
horsiness. He reached the table and sat down 
without invitation in the vacant chair. 

" Pauline! " he said, sorrowfully. 

" Algie ! " said Lady Wetherby, tensely. 
" I don't know what you've come here for, 
and I don't remember asking you to sit down 
and put your elbows on that table, but I want 
to begin by saying that I will not be called 
Pauline. My name's Polly. You've got a way 
of saying Pauline, as if it were a gentlemanly 
cuss-word, that makes me want to scream. And 
while you're about it, why don't you say how- 
d'you-do to Claire £ You ought to remember 
her, she was my bridesmaid." 

" IjtJwV ERl'^PP '■dp.MlCsMIGAw'H'k. Of course. 



I remember you perfectly. I'm glad to see 
you again." 

" And now, Algie, what is it ? Why have 
you come here ? " Lord Wetherby looked 
doubtfully at Claire. "Oh, that's all right," 
said Lady Wetherby. " Claire knows all about 
it— I told her." 

*• Then I appeal to Miss Fenwick, if, as you 
say, she knows all the facts of the case, to say 
whether it is reasonable to expect a man of my 
temperament, a nervous, highly -strung artist, 
to welcome the presence of snakes at the 
breakfast - table. I trust that I am not an 
unreasonable man, but I decline to admit that 
a long, green snake is a proper thing to keep 
about the house." 

" You had no right to strike the poor thing." 

"In that one respect I was perhaps a little 
hasty. I happened to be stirring my tea at 
the moment his head rose above the edge of 
the table. I was not entirely myself that 
morning. My nerves were somewhat disor- 
dered. I had lain awake much of the night 
planning a canvas." 

" Planning a what ? " 

" A canvas — a picture." 

Lady Wetherby turned to Claire. 

" I want you to listen to Algie, Claire. A 
year ago he did not know one end of a paint- 
brush from the other. He didn't know he had 
any nerves. If you had brought him the artistic 
temperament on a plate with a bit of water- 
cress round it, he wouldn't have recognized 
it. And now, just because he's got a studio, 
he thinks he has a right to go up in the air if 
you speak to him suddenly and run about the 
place hitting snakes with teaspoons as if he 
were Michel Angelo ! " 

" You do me an injustice. It is true that 
as an artist I developed late — ■ — ■ But why 
should we quarrel ? If it will help to pave 
the way to a renewed understanding betweerf us, 
I am prepared to apologize for striking Clarence. 
That is conciliatory, I think. Miss Fenwick ? " 

" Very." 

" Miss Fenwick considers my attitude con- 

" It's something," admitted Lady Wetherby, 

Lord Wetherby drained the whisky. and. soda 
which Dudley Pickering had left behind him, 
and seemed to draw strength from it, for he 
now struck a firmer note. 

" But, though expressing regret for my 
momentary loss of self-control, I cannot recede 
from the position I have taken up as regards the 
essential unfitness of Clarence's presence in 
the home." 

Lady Wetherby looked despairingly at Claire. 

" The very first words I heard Algie speak, 
Claire, were at Newmarket during the three 
o'clock race one May afternoon. He was 
hanging over the rail, yelling like an Indian, 
and what he was yelling was, ' Come on, you 
blighter, come on ! By the living jingo, Brick- 
bat wins in a walk ! * And now he's talking 
about receding from essential positions ! Oh, 
well, he wasn't an artist then ! " 

" My dear Pau — Polly. I am purposely 
picking my words on the present occasion in 
order to prevent the possibility of further 
misunderstandings. I consider myself an 

" You would be shocked if you knew what 
I consider you ! " 

" I am endeavouring to the best of my 
ability " 

" Algie, listen to me ! I am quite calm at 
present, but there's no knowing how soon I 
may hit you with a chair if you don't come to 
earth quick and talk like an ordinary human 
being. What is it that you are driving at ? " 

" Very well, it's this : I'll come home if you 
get rid of that snake." 

" Never ! " 

" It's surely not much to ask of you, Polly ? " 

" I won't ! " 

Lord Wetherby sighed. 

"When I led you to the altar," he said, re- 
proachfully, " you promised to love, honour, 
and obey me. I thought at the time it was 
a bit of swank ! " 

Lady Wetherby's manner thawed. She be- 
came more friendly. 

"When you talk like that, Algie, I feel 
there's hope for you after all. That's how 
you used to talk in the dear old days when 
you'd come to me to borrow half a crown to 
put on a horse ! Listen, now that at last 
you seem to be getting more reasonable ; I 
wish I could make you understand that 
I don't keep Clarence for sheer love of him. 
He's a tommercial asset. He's an advertise- 
ment. You must know that I have got to have 
something to " 

" I admit that may be so as regards the 
monkey, Eustace. Monkeys as aids to publicity 
have, I believe, been tested and found valuable 
by other artistes. I am prepared to accept 
Eustace, but the snake is worthless." 

" Oh, you don't object to Eustace, then ? " 

" I do strongly, but I concede his uses." 

" You would live in the same house as 
Eustace ? " 

" I would endeavour to do so. But not in 
the same house as Eustace and Clarence." 

There was a pause. 

" I don't know that I'm so stuck on Clarence 
myself," said Lady Wetherby, weakly. 

" My darling ! " 

" Wait a minute. I've not said I would 
get rid of him." 

" But you will ? " 

Lady W'etherby's hesitation lasted but a 
moment. " All right, Algie. I'll send him to 
the 7oo to-morrow." 

" My precious pet ! " 

A hand, reaching under the table, enveloped 
Claire's in a loving clasp. 

From the look on Lord W r etherby's face she 
supposed that he was under the delusion that 
he was bestowing this attention on his wife. 

" You know, Algie, darling," said Lady 
Wetherby, melting completely, " when you get 
that yearning note m your voice I just flop and 
take the fall cou^tQf MICHIGAN 



" My sweetheart, when I saw you doing that 
Dream of What's-the-girl's-bally-name dance 
just now, it was all I could do to keep from 
rushing out on to the floor and hugging you." 

" Algie ! " 

" Pohy ! " 

" Do you mind letting go of my hand, please, 
Lord Wetherby ? " said Claire, on whom these 
saccharine exchanges were beginning to have a 
cloying effect. 

For a moment Lord Wetherby seemed some- 
what confused, but, pulling himself together, he 
covered his embarrassment with a pomposity 
that blended poorly with his horsy appearance. 

44 Married life, Miss Fen wick," he said, " as 
you will no doubt discover some day, must 
always be a series of mutual compromises, of 
cheerful give and take. The lamp of love " 

His remarks were cut short by a crash at 
the other end of the room. There was a sharp 
cry and the splintering of glass. The place was 
full of a sudden, sharp confusion. They jumped 
up with one accord. Lady Wetherby spilled 
her iced coffee ; Lord Wetherby dropped the 
lamp of love. Claire, who was nearest the pillar 
that separated them from the part of the 
restaurant where the accident had happened, 
was the first to see what had taken place. 

A large man, dancing with a large girl. 

appeared to have charged into a small waiter, 
upsetting him and his tray and the contents of 
his tray. The various actors in the drama were 
now engaged in sorting themselves out from the 
ruins. The man had his back toward her, and 
it seemed to Claire that there was something 
familiar about that back. Then he turned, and 
she recognized Lord Dawlish. 

She stood transfixed. For a moment sur- 
prise was her only emotion. How came Bill 
to be in America ? Then other feelings blended 
with her surprise. It is a fact that Lord Dawlish 
was looking singularly uncomfortable. 

Claire's eyes travelled from Bill to his partner 
and took in with one swift feminine glance her 
large, exuberant blondness. There is no denying 
that, seen with a somewhat biased eye, the 
Good Sport resembled rather closely a poster 
advertising a revue, 

Claire returned to her seat. Lord and Lady 
Wetherby continued to talk, but she allowed 
them to conduct the conversation without her 

" You're very quiet, Claire," said Polly. 

" I'm thinking." 

" A very good thing, too, so they tell me. 
I've never tried it myself. Algie, darling, he 
was a bad boy to leave his nice home, wasn't 
he ? He didn't deserve to have his hand held." 

(To be continued.) 



With homely weapons cynics oft begin 
Attacks upon the matrimonial state : 
Reverse the order— 'twere a fitting fate 

That such should ever feel them in their skin. 

1. Needing to find a lake in Africa, 
Try Albert Edward or Victoria. 

2. Both town and castle here have cast aside 
What many people seek for far and wide. 

3. Let your grave be within due limit seen, 
Andit shall be full deeply cut, I ween. 

4. Ere you can hear a satisfactory sound, 
A son must in his proper place be found. 

5. Though what we know of him be rather scanty, 
His work was not without its use for Dante. 

6. Perhajts you'd hardly think it of the moon. 
Yet either 'tis too late or else too soon. 

7. Though you may say the whole is not in view, 
There's ample stuff here to enlighten you. 


AlfSWEB TO No. 19. 




















u c k o 

i n 


a n 


i n 

r: a t 





Answer to No. 20. 

1. N o 

2. O 

3. V 


u n c 
r i 
a x i 
u 1 e 


Vol. Hii.-a 

Notes.— Light 3. Vacant. 
4. Suggests " eerie." 7. 


Answers to Acrostic No. 21 should be addressed to 
the Acrostic Editor, The Strand Magazine. Southampton 
Street, Strand, London, W.C.. and must arrive not later 
than by the first post on January \Qth. 

Two answers may be sent ta ct*ry light. 


The maximum number of points obtainable during the 
quarter was 45. No solver succeeded in scoring this total ; 
four competitors gained 44, eight gained 43, and four 
gained 42. 

Enos. Joseph us. Roc. and Tuph scored 44, and each 
of them will receive a cheque for £1 12s. 6d. ; Beggar, 
H. H.. Isa, Junius. Manora, Osbo, Reg, and Yoko scored 
43, and each of them will receive a prize of 10s. Enos. 
Josephus, Reg. Roc. and Tuph will be considered 
ineligible for a prize in the fourth acrostic series, now 

The names and addresses of these twelve winners are : 
Enos, Mr. W. S. Cool. 3. St. James's Square, Pall Mall. 
S.W. ; Josephus, Mr. J. Spencer Clark, 44, Camberwell 
Road, S.E. : Roc, Mr. R. C. Oakley, Dunchurch Hall. 
Rugby ; Tuph, Mrs, M. Clark, 34, Britannia Road. Fulham. 
S.W. ; Beggar. Mr. B. G. Pearce. 5, Ethelbert Road. 
Bromley, Kent ; H. H„ Mr. E. W. Lloyd, Hartford House. 
Winchfield, Hants ; Isa, Miss Nieholls. 23, Campden Hill 
Court. W. : Junius, Mr. F. C. W. Origson, Bickley Hall, 
Bickley. Kent; Manora, Mr. O. W. Sealy, 29. Redcliffe 
Square. S.W. ; Osbo. Mr. W. Stradling, R.N. College. 
Osborne, f.W. ; Reg, Mr. H. Lees, 3, Campden House 
Chambers, W. ; Yoko, Mr. R Rawson, 10, Richmond 
Mansion*, S.W. 


The Globe-Trotter 
of Three Hundred Years Ago. 


X these days of 
motor-cars and 
increased trans- 
port facilities 
we are apt to 
forget what a 
slow and solemn 
thing travel 
used to be. 
Nowadays, in 
times of peace 
at 1 e a s t , the 
traveller can 
visit quite a 
part of Europe in the course of a summer 
vacation. He does not see it properly, 
and does not pretend to do so, but he will 
be whirled from place to place with great 
speed, which is often the aim and end of 
his travelling j and he expects to reach 
home without undue delays and in 

In the sixteenth and seventeenth 
centuries the traveller was not whirled 
any where j unless he fell over a 
precipice, and the odds in favour of 
his finishing his journey without 
mishap were not great. He travelled 
invariably with others, in a leisurely 
and extremely uncomfortable manner, 
at the rate of about twenty miles a 
day by coach, on horseback, or by 
boat j and piously thanked Heaven if 
he returned home un robbed and 
sound of limb, Whatever he learnt 
about the practical side of travel 
was the result of his own bitter 
experience. Maps and guide-books 
of a kind could be had, but the 
maps showed the rivers only and 
not the roads* and the pu id e-books 
were often of little practical use. 
Some of thes* books were in- 
tended as aids to conversation, and 
the practical value of these may lie 
gathered from the following dialogue 
printed in a conversational guide for 
travellers, in seven languages, which 

appeared in 1585, In the chapter, " For to 
aske the Way," the travellers riding along 
meet a shepherdess, whereon B. says : fcl Aske 
of that shee sheaphcrd," A, complies: •* My 
shee friend, where is the right way from hence 
to Anwerp ? " She replies : " Right before 
you turnyng aether un to right nor on to 
left hand till jtju come to an high elme tree, 
then turn on the left hand/' The traveller 
addresses Jone, the chambermaid at the inn, 
thus : " My shee friend, is my bed made ? 
is it good ? " " Yea, sir, it is a good feder 
bed, the scheetes be very cleanc." Traveller : 
" Pull of my hosen and warme my bed : 
drawe the curtines and pinthen with a pin. 
My shee friend, kisse me once and 1 shall 
sleape the better— 1 thank you, fayre mayden." 
It must not, however* be assumed that a 
knowledge of foreign tongues was regarded 
as altogether desirable. In acquiring the 
language the student might also acquire the 







habits and 
customs o f 
the country 
i tsel f ? and 
could be more 
than for a 
young man 
to return 
home with 
the " Italian 
huffe of the 
shoulder, the 
Dutch puffe 
with the pot, 
or the French 
apishness.' 3 
We were in- 
sular enough 
in those days 
to think it advisable for those that crossed the 
sea to change the air only and not the mind. 

\\ ith luck the Channel could be crossed 
in four hours^ and usually at a cost of five 
shillings : but what with the necessity of 
waiting for the wind and tide and the diffi- 
culties of landing, the crossing was often a 
very lengthy and troublesome affair. One 
traveller in the seventeenth century set out 
from Brill in Holland, and after twenty-four 
hours' sailing had to put hack, A fortnight 
later, after he had made various other 
attempts, the wind became more favourable 
and he tried apain, but once more the wind 
changed and the first haven he could reach 
was "Yarmouth, where, having narrowly 
escaped shipwreck, he arrived after two 
days running before a storm. The packet- 
boats were small and crowded, and it was often 
a frightened, sick, and weary tra%eller who 
disembarked upon French or Dutch shore. 
Against sea-sickness sufferers were recom- 
mended to apply a hag of saffron to the region 
of the heart, or a bag of hay salt, beaten small, 
to the stomach. Lemons were also recom- 
mended, as were rose-leaves, cloves, and rose- 
mary to counteract the evil smells of the 
boat. One lady tried sitting on the hatches 
and singing the Psalms of David, " after the 
English note and dyttie." but the experiment 
was not particularly successful. 

Two kinds of vehicles were in use for land 
travelling in Germany, France, and Holland : 
the long, lumbering carts in which the pas- 
sengers, often ten in number, sat on boards, 
and the more pretentious coaches or wagons, 
with movable tops, which could be closed 
or opened at will. Springs, of coursi . wcrr 

and although 
Bishop Bur- 
net, travel- 
ling in Italy 
in i683 ? notes 
an improve- 
ment in the 
coaches in 
Rome and 
Naples, the 
bodies being 
swung upon 
flexible sup- 
ports which 
them u ex- 
tream easy/' 
the discom- 
fort of these 
vehicles, as a general rule, was not easily for- 
gotten. The noise was distracting, the jolting 
frequently produced a kind of sea-sickness, and 
if the coach was full there was scarcely room to 
breathe. If it rained, it was generally found 
that the tilt leaked and the travellers, in addi- 
tion to being bespattered with mud, were 
drenched to the skin, enduring according to 
one writer three several deaths at once, drown- 
ing, choking with mire, and breaking on the 
wheel. If the sun was hot, they were baked. 
The company was invariably mixed, and 
ladies at that time, especially in France, were 
inclined to be a trifle unreserved and talkative, 
11 A dame of Paris/* writes one traveller, 
lf came in coach with us from Rouen : four- 
teene houres we were together, of which time 
(lie take my oath upon it) her tongue fretted 
away eleaven hours and fifty-seven minutes. 
Such everlasting talkers are they all (the 
ladies) that they will sooner want breath 
than words and are never silent but in the 
grave, which may also be doubted/' 

If the traveller did not appreciate public 
conveyances he could make up a party of 
friends and travel under the protection of a 
veUurino^ or messenger — a kind of seventeenth- 
century "folk's," who contracted fr-r the 
whole cost of the journey, including food, 
lodging, carriage, tolls, etc, and wealthy 
people could, of course, travel privately. 
This increased expenditure, though it ensured 
privacy, did not purchase comfort, and the 
fewer the travellers the greater the possibility 
of being robbed. Post-horses were also used, 
especially in Italy, and could be hired in every 
town, with a piece of fur on the bridle to 
identify WiRIPBljl ri ft!ift meant extra expense, 




as an additional horse had to be hired to carry 
the luggage j and the increase in pace Was not 
always proportionate to the additional outlay. 

But , whether alone or in company, on horse- 
back or by coach, the traveller ran consider- 
able risks. In many parts of Europe at this 
time war was either in actual progress or its 
effects were horribly recent, and the traveller, 
in addition to witnessing the ravages of war, 
was often in danger himself from bands of 
unpaid mercenaries who roamed the country, 
seeking to collect from travellers what was 
dented them by their employers. Many 
towns provided escorts as a mutter of course, 
and in the seventeenth century some kind of 
police patrol existed in F ranee, but it was not 
always effective. 

Travellers in those days evidently wit- 
nessed many strange sights by the wayside, 
judging from 
the illustra- 
tion here- 
with, The 
occupant of 
this quaint 
Italian carry- 
ing -chair is 
peeping out 
in horror at a 
strange figure 
w i t h Me- 
dusa's hair, 
who, stand- 
ing waist- 
deep in a 
cluck - pond, 
is apparently 
killing frogs 
with Vulcan's 

Js,o account of travelling at this period 
would be complete without a notice of the 
river and canal services available for travel- 
lers. Practically every tourist at this period 
spent some of his time on the water. The 
larger rivers of France were for a long time 
the simplest and most convenient means of 
communication. In Northern Italy the 
waterways were largely used for passenger 
traffic, and Holland was noted at this time 
for what was probably the best passenger 
service in Europe. Boats earning thirty 
or forty passengers were towed by horses 
or sailed along the canals and tuts, 
and in many places regular services were 
organized, with fares fixed hy the local 
authorities. As for Germany, no traveller 
could escape a voyage down the Rhine in 
one of the large boats with 





ingSj figured in contemporary engravings. The 
Rhine was then the main artery of Europe. 
The stream was crowded with boats — heavy 
craft carrying the merchandise of the world, 
and pleasure-boats and rafts run together for 
the conveyance of goods and passengers. 
Truej there were drawbacks. At every fortress 
they were stopped while toll was exacted , 
and the river w r as not always safe. In 1606 
one traveller found the country overrun with 
soldiers who did not greatly distinguish 
between friend and foe, and below Bonn a 
number of suspicious- looking boats were seen 
lurking among the islands. The travellers 
alarm was considerably increased by the sight 
of corpses of malefactors hanging in gibbets 
on the river- bank or stretched upon wheels, 
and his relief was considerable when he was 
joined by two Flemish gentlemen carrying 

But whether 
in Holland, 
France ? Italy, 
or German y, 
this system 
of water tra- 
velling was 
hard to beat 
for cheapness 
and speed. 
The com- 
pany was 
often mixed, 
and the boats 
carried beasts 
and every 
kind of 
A traveller 
from Paris to 
Auxerre, in 1665, had with him in the boat, 
among other fellow- passengers of all sexes 
and ages, a marquess, several ladies, a 
dog merchant with his stock, a priest, 
a thief, a number of serving-men, and a 
crowd of brawling women. Three of these 
females fell into the water while hurrying 
for the boat at one of the stages, and. having 
been hauled out again, started fighting in 
the boat, each accusing the other of having 
pushed her in. What with this hubbub and 
the cries of the children and the disorder, 
everybody disputing every inch of space, the 
tra\ ellers were nearly beside themselves. In 
Italy we find the same assortment of passen- 
gers, and as for the passenger- boat between 
Padua and Venice, it was a common saving 
concerning the boat that it would sink unless 
it contained S'ffilMifiteJ rfipnrast ; and a courtesan, 



One of the 
great advan- 
tages of water 
travel was 
that the way 
was not liable 
to be affected 
by weather 
or neglect, 
whereas the 
condition of 
the roads was 
often deplor- 
able. It was 
not at all an 
thing for 
travellers to 
find their 
way impass- 
able, and 
often, if they 
did not a light , 
nearly killed* 


they were thrown out and 
In Germany the roads in 
the neighbourhood of Innsbruck were good 
and safe > but elsewhere they often defied 
desc r i p t ion * B e t w e en N u r em be r g a n d S t ra ss- 
burg, in 1607, a party of travellers on horse- 
back could only proceed in single file, each 
horse placing its hoofs in the footmarks of 
its leader, and the Italian roads were little 
better. The paths which crossed the moun- 
tains into Italy can scarcely be described as 
roads and were often little better than half- 
dried beds of torrents. One, the Via Mala, 
across the Splugen, was nothing more than a 
narrow ledge hewn out of the rock, and in 
places where this was 
impossible the road 
consisted of planks of 
wood and earth resting 
upon beams driven into 
the side of the mountain. 
One traveller describes 
this road as so terrifying 
that it might well have 
been the descent into the 
infernal regions. The 
horse carrying his bed had 
fallen down a precipice, 
two of the valises had 
disappeared into space, 
and he was generally so 
shaken and frightened 
that one wonders whether 
the Pit itself could have 
any fresh terrors for him* 
The Brenner was safer, 
but even here the number 


skill and in 

of crucifixes 
testified t o 
the f r e - 
q u c n c y of 
The crossing 
of the Mont 
Cenis from 
into Italy 
was also a 
but here a 
great trade 
was done by 
worans> or 
m e n w h o 
carried the 
traveller up 
and down in 
a kind of 

chair with 

Of inns there is no room to speak. They 
w T ere not calculated to add to one's comfort. 
They were invariably dirty and the inn- 
keepers were notable rogues. Indeed, it 
w r as said that in Germany they were so 
called because they tried to keep in both 
with God and the devih The traveller 
who missed his way or failed to reach his 
destination by nightfall was at the mercy 
of the peasantry. If he were fortunate he 
might perhaps share the bed with the 

peasant himself, 
did one traveller 


his wife and family, as 
in Italy in the sixteenth 
century , but ordinarily 
he could expect nothing 
better than a stable and 
some straw. Having 
spent the night under 
conditions which would 
have tried the Seven 
Sleepers themselves, the 
traveller, as he gathered 
up the fragments of 
his body and departed, 
must have often cursed 
the fever that sent him 
out of England into 
foreign countries. A 
journey, says an old 
proverb, is a fragment 
of hell. One feels that 
this truth must have been 
brought home to many 
a seventeenth-cen- 


the alps in coMFQrtgmamcr$r traveller 





Author of " The Great Push* <+ The Red Horizon" efc. 

Illustrated 4 by Graham Simmons, 


HE stifling heat of the summer 
day had given place to the 
coolness of night, and a big 
moon rode gallantly amidst 
the stars of the dark blue 
eastern sky. A searchlight 
felt the country with a long, 
pale arm, lighting up the road, village and 
wood for miles around ; a galaxy of star-shells 
stood over the firing-line, where the meteoric 
flashes of bursting shells rioted along the 
horizon of war- 
Hack in a village by the River Ancre lights 
shone in the windows of houses and through 
the chinks nf shutters, The poplars which 
lined the village streets showed black and 
solitary against the red- brick cottages, their 
shadows stretched straight along the pave- 
ment, spreading out to an intricate tracery 
of tremulous boughs which moved backwards 
and forwards as the soft night breeze caught 
them. The moonlight rippled over the roofs, 
the walls, and the grey, dusty road ; the 
river lapped sleepily against its banks ; 
soldiers walked up and down the streets 
smoking, laughing, and chatting ; women 
came out from the cottages bearing pails, 
which they placed under the pumps and filled 
with water. All was peaceful here ; only 
twice had the village been struck by shells, 
and then the roofs of two houses had been 
shattered. In twenty-four hours, however, 
the willing hands of the villagers had made 
the roofs whole again. 

In the attic of a dwelling that stood by the 
riverside a party of soldiers, four in all, were 
billeted. They belonged to the London 
Regiment, which was then quartered in the 
vi 1 lage « The boy s w ere i n a ga y g ood- h u m ou r , 
for the day had been pay-day, and two bottles 
of champagne had been bought and the second 
bottle had just been opened, 

Dowdy Benners was there sitting on a 
bundle of straw under the niche in which a 

Digitized by QjiOOglC 

candle was placed, surveying the newly-drawn 
cork with a lazy smile, his hands under his 
thighs and his short, powerful legs stretched 
out in front to their fullest extent. He was 
dressed in a shirt, trousers, and socks, his 
braces tied round his waist, his hairy chest 
hare, and his identity disc tied round his 
massive neck with a piece of t- whys, almost 
hidden in the hair, 

Opposite him sat Bill Tealte. the Cockney 
rifleman, a bright sparkle in his alert eyes, 
his legs crossed, and the fingers of his left 
hand strumming idly on the fioor. His 
right hand gripped a mess-tin, which he 
pushed towards the champagne bottle in a 
slow, guileless manner as if he were doing it 

Dudley Pryor was there, stripped to the 
waist and rubbing his body with a towel. 
He had been out through the village and had 
just come back, sweating profusely. Pryor 
was very handsome, very sarcastic/ and very 
learned, a boy with a college education. 
He had eaten at a cafi round the corner, 
and had made a study of *' the movements of 
masticating jaws," as he expressed it. 

b£ It's interesting to watch people eat/' he 
said. " Some eat slowly, as if deliberating 
whether they should swallow the food or 
spit it out, some eat quickly, trippingly as 
it were, and some gorge. Those who eat 
slow!y keep their mouths shut, those who 
eat quickly show their teeth all the time, and 
those who gorge simply ^orge. We were 
sitting at a long table, and I was at the end 
of the seat. I had a look along the line of 
moving jaws rising and falling, at the man 
next to me having a canter," 

" A canter? JJ queried Rill Teake t 

11 Yes, a canter round his teeth with his 
tongue/* said Pryor ; " and at the man 
opposite t whose moving jaw shook his ears 
until I thought they would fall off/' 

Near Bill stood a man of about thirty, 
with a hea\y^pjy^^g 1 ^t T close eyes, and a 





streak for a forehead. He had been a traveller 
in many lands, and was tattooed on every 
part of the body except hU face, Even his 
toes and finger-tips had not escaped, He 
was a good-hearted fellow, drunk or sober, 
and was as indifferent as a snail towards 
fighting and gunfire- Pryor got no farther 
with his chatter. The door opened, a platoon 
sergeant entered followed by a stranger, and 
glanced keenly about him. 

11 Watch that candle," he said ; " it will 
fall down on the straw and burn the whole 
bally place out, if you are not careful. 
And that window, what about it ? Teh 
light's showing through, and you'll have a 
shell across 'ere if you* re not careful. You're 
not at 'ome, now, boys." 

* ( 'Aven't been in Blighty for eighteen 
months, sarg/' said Bill Teake, blandly. 

" I've j^iftimlrfraiate for you fellows,' 




said the sergeant, paying no heed to Bill's 
remark. u 'E 'as just come out, and 'e's 
for this 'ere section. And another thing," 
he said, " I s'pose you think yourselves 
lucky gettin' your pay to-day and gettin' 
a good night's sleep to-night after fillin* 
your guts with grub and fizz. Don't you, 
now ? " 

" Yes, of course," Bill assented. 

" Well, you're darned unlucky," said the 
sergeant. " We've got ter go up ter the 
trenches to-night." 

" Blimey ! " " Eh ! " " Rats ! " " Curse 
it ! " four voices yelled. 

" We're startin' off as soon as we can, so 
get ready," said the sergeant. " Every man 
wipe 'is wifle wiv a woily wag 'fore 'e goes, 
for 'e may need it 'fore 'e comes back. Buck 
to, while you give me a wet and get ready." 

They gave the sergeant a drink and started 
to pack up their things. Only when they 
had finished and sat down to wait for the 
call to move had they time to pay any atten- 
tion to the new mate, the boy who had just 
come out from home. 

He had helped them at the making up of 
their kits, oiled their rifles, and rushed out 
to the baker's shop near at hand and bought 
two loaves to take up to the trenches. When 
he returned the others were sitting on the 
floor waiting for him. 

He came in with* a brisk step, placed the 
loaves on the floor, and looked at his mates. 
In carriage he had a certain individual grace, 
and his face, good-looking and youthful, wore 
an expression of intense expectation. A 
traveller within sight of a long-sought objec- 
tive might look as that boy did. His age 
might be about nineteen ; he looked seventeen. 
When he saw the men looking at him he 
smiled awkwardly and blushed as if he had 
been found guilty of a mean action. 

" Well, wot yer fink of it ? " asked Bill 

" Of this place ? " asked the boy. 

" No, not of this place, but the 'ole blurry 
business," said Bill ; " o' this 'ere war." 

" I don't know what to think of the war, 
but I love being out here," said the boy, 
putting his hand in his pocket and bringing 
out a packet of cigarettes. 

" I couldn't get out before. My mother 
spoke to the authorities back in England, 
and I couldn't get away until I was nineteen." 

" And ye're glad to be out 'ere ? " asked 
Bill Teake, in an incredulous voice, then 
added, " Of course you are. I was dyin' ter 
get out 'ere myself. But I know where I'd 
like ter get now. Thanks, matey." 

Bill put the cigarette in his mouth and the 
new-comer lit it with a match. He gave the 
others cigarettes also, and lit the last three 
with the same match. The stranger was the 
third smoLer. This was not discovered until 
it was done. 

" Devil blow me blind ! " exclaimed Bowdy 

Benners. "He lit his cig " Then he 

stopped, and* a moment's silence ensued. 

" It's always unlucky," said Bill Teake. 
" D'ye mind old Stumpy ? " 

" Hold your row, you old woman," Benners 

" The superstition is a modern one," said 
Pryor, blowing the smoke of a cigarette 
through his nostrils. " Invented, I suppose, 
by Bryant and May's to increase the output 
of matches." 

" But wot about old Stumpy ? " asked Bill 

" Stumpy be hanged ! " exclaimed Benners, 
who was seldom moved to such a state of 
excitement. " Hold your jaw, Bill Teake." 
- " So we're going up to the trenches to- 
night," said the new-comer, in an eager voice. 

" Yes, we're going up," said Pryor, moodily. 
" It's always going up. I suppose you'll 
be quite pleased going into action for the 
first time." 

" Delighted," said the boy, and the hearers 
chuckled at the frank admission. 

u It's young blood an' not knowin' things 
that makes you say that," said Bill Teake, 
shaking his head with an air of wisdom at 
which his mates would have laughed if their 
rest had been assured for another week. But 
now they sat there waiting for the signal to 
move up to the fighting-line which they knew 
so well it was a different matter. 

The talk turned to England. The new- 
comer, whose name was Frank Reynolds, had 
much to tell about home, his people, hib life 
at school, and above all about his life in the 
Army. He was the only child of a head clerk 
in a London bank : his father had died 
recently, and now only the mother remained 
at home. She lived in Hampstead, and was 
rather well-to-do, having money left to her 
by a rich relative. She was very fond of her 
boy, and would send him parcels twice a week. 

" No cigarettes, though," said Reynolds. 
11 She doesn't know that I smoke, and I 
daren't tell. It would hurt her. I learned to 
smoke since I joined the Army, just about 
three cigarettes a day." 

" I could smoke that many when drinking 
my tea," said Bill Teake. 

Conversation was ceased at that moment, 
for the whistle was blown in the street, and 




the soldiers were forming up preparatory to 
moving off to the trenches. 


The battalion marched along the road by the 
river, company after company, with little 
connecting files in between. Not the slightest 
breeze was awake, the river was silent, and 
the tall, graceful poplars which lined our 
route looked blacker and straighter than 
usual. They seemed to have gone to sleep 
ever as they stood. The whole world was in 
repose ; our movement was a sacrilege against 
the gods on the still night. 

The very trenches were quiet now ; the 
artillery riot had died down, and only a few 
star-shells rose into the mysterious heights of 
the eastern sky. The company in front set up 
a brisk pace, which required long quick strides 
to follow. We turned up off from the river, 
and marched up a steep incline to the top of 
a low hill that looked out on a wide, far- 
reaching plain, which under the pale meon- 
light looked more immense, and merged as 
it seemed into the distant sky. 

Here and there a tall chimney-stack stood 
high in air, dark shadows clinging to its base 
in Startling contrast to the moonlight, which 
rippled like molten silver over the top. A thin 
white mist trailed across the meadows in long 
formless streaks, bunching in the hollows and 
breaking away on the open. The air was full 
of the smell of water and mist and growing 
grass — in short, of the atmosphere of a summer 

Smoking was not allowed. The enemy's 
trenches, miles away though they were, looked 
down on the road, and the glowing cigarette- 
ends might be noticed. Then the road would 
be shelled. 

Bill Teake and Reynolds marched side by 
side, with Pryor and Bowdy Benners imme- 
diately in front. From time to time they 
spoke of one thing and another, more 
especially about their hard luck in not getting 
a month's rest which had been promised to 
them for some time. They had expected to 
go back on the following morning, but instead 
it looked as if they were going to spend the 
morrow and a few other morrows in the 

" Just our luck," said Pryor. " It's always 
the same, always and eternally the same 
tarnation grind." 

" Why do they send up green lights ? " 
asked Reynolds, in a whisper, and added, 
" They do look pretty." 

" Pretty ! " laughed Bill Teake. " If you 
was up in the trenches now you'd 'ear some 

pretty langwidge. They're signals for the 
artillery to bust up a dug-out or two, them 
green lights." 

11 Who's sending them up ? " asked 

" Us, maybe," said Bill, " and again maybe 
it's not us. No one ever knows wpt's wot 
in this 'ere job. It's always a muddle." 

" But it's quiet enough now," said Rey- 
nolds. " How far are we from the trenches ? " 

44 About three miles." 

The battalion entered a village and 
marched up a wide street towards the full 
moon. The companies in front looked like 
dark, compact, heavy masses which did not 
seem to move, but which could not be over- 
taken. A pump on the pavement was 
running, and the water glittered like burnished 
silver as it fell to the cobbles. A shutter hung 
loose on a window, and a woman came out 
and tried to fasten it, moving quietly, as if 
afraid to make a noise. Reynolds was 
surprised to find a woman up so late — it was 
almost midnight now. 

" This place is quiet enough," said Rey- 
nolds, speaking to Bill Teake. " One wouldn't 
think that the place was so near the trenches. 
Do they ever fire at this village ? " 

4t Sometimes," said Bill ; " at the other 
end. There ! " 

The deep bass note of a bursting explosive 
swept through the village, awaking myriad 
long-drawn echoes, and died away. 

" Shelling in front," said Pryor, in a 
trenchant whisper. 

44 I hope it's not the road." 

" I don't think it's the road," said Bowdy 
Benners. " It sounded to the left a bit. 
But you can't tell with the echoes." 

Further conversation was then impos- 
sible. The battalion formed into a file and 
plodded ahead. Round the next corner 
Frank Reynolds came in touch with war. A 
limber lay in the middle of the street shattered 
to pieces, the two ponies and the driver dead 
and a sluggish trail of something dark 
crawling away from the scene of the wreck. 
Instinctively the boy knew that he was 
looking on blood, and a queer sensation 
gripped the pit of his stomach. At the same 
moment he thought of the woman who was 
trying to close the shutters two hundred 
yards away, and a feeling of shame swept 
through his heart. 

" Am I afraid ? " he asked himself. 
" And a woman going on with her work 
beside me just as if nothing was happening." 

The R.A.M.C. were already at work, not 
in the vicinitpfll)fr$KB limber, for there all 




help was useless, but on the pavement under 
the shadow of the poplars, where four or five 
men were lying down wounded and groaning. 

Here the village had su "ered, the houses 
were crumpled and shattered, the tiles had 
been flung o3 the rafters, the walls were 
smashed, the trees on the pavement were 
cut to splinters. Big holes showed in the 
streets, and over all the ruin and destruction 
the moon shone calmly and the stars glim- 
mered. But the atmosphere of the night 
had changed ; a strange, pungent odour 
filled the air, and Reynolds knew that he was 
smelling the battlefield. 

" I must not tell mother about this," he 
said. " If she knew she couldn't sleep a 
wink at night. I never thought — I suppose 
there will be worse sights." 


At one o'clock in the morning they 
were in occupation of the trenches ; the 
battalion which they had relieved were just 
moving away. Reynolds' section were lucky 
enough to find a dug-out, and here they 
threw down their loaves and other luxuries 
which the Government had not supplied. 

" Now we must make ourselves as comfort- 
able as we can," said Pryor, as he lit a cigar- 
ette. " I'm for a sleep until it's my turn for 

The platoon-sergeant, who came to the 
dug-out door at that moment, heard the 
remark and chuckled. Having some work 
to do which needed volunteers he saw scope 
for his peculiar type of humour. 

" Goin' to 'ave a kip, Pryor ? " he asked, 
in a gentle voice. " Turnin' in fer a spell ? " 

" Just for a while," said Pryor ; " an hour 
or two." 

" Well, ye're darned unlucky," said the 
sergeant, with a chuckle. " We're goin' ter 
raid the henemy's trenches." 

The section was up and alert in an instant ; 
anticipation flushed every face. 

" I'm in this 'ere game/' said Bill Teake, 
in a vehement voice. " Larst time I was 
out o' ic." 

" All's in it — that is, every man in this 
platoon 'cept them just out," said the 
sergeant. " They'll stay 'ere an' mind the 
'ouse while we're away." 

" I'm going out in the raid," said Reynolds, 
in an eager voice; " I want to be in the fun." 

" Yer do, do yer ? " asked the sergeant. 
" Next time, my boy, but not now." 

" But I want to," pleaded Reynolds. 

" You want to go, do yer ? " asked the 
sergeant, scratching his head. " Ye never do 

Digitized by \jOOgfC 

wot ye want in this 'ere crush, my boy," he 
bellowed. " Ye just do wot ye're told ; an' 
you'll find that quite enuff 'fore ye're 'ere 
very long." 

Reynolds lay back against the wall of the 
dug-out, his fair, youthful face lit by the glow 
of the candle which Pryor had just placed 
in a niche of the wall. The boy was bitterly 
disappointed ; the others were going over 
the top and he was to be left alone. He 
opened his lips to say something, and his 
voice faltered ; he was on the verge of tears. 

" Is there any means of getting out with 
you ? " he asked. " Couldn't somebody 
stay back and let me go in his place ? " 

" The bloke as doesn't want ter go isn't in 
this 'ere regiment," said Bill Teake. 

The sergeant, who had just gone outside, 
returned carrying a tin filled with a substance 
black and soft like soot. 

" Now, boys," he said, as he placed the tin 
on the floor, " cover yer faces over with this 
an', be like niggers. A white face can be 
seen a good distance on- a moonlight night, 
an' if ye're seen on this 'ere job it'll be all 
up with the party — they'll be darned unlucky. 

"An' when ye've done that, get *arf-a- 
dozen bombs apiece and bring 'em wiv you," 
the sergeant continued, " Also get some 
brushwood— ye'll find it out 'ere ready for 
yer— ye'll g'over disguised as a shrubbery. 
We'll crawl across, get up to the German 
trench, and fling the bombs in. Then we'll 
come back again, the 'ole lot of us, if we're 
lucky. What the devil's that ? " 

The stretcher-bearers brought him in from 
the trench, a rifleman with a wound showing 
in his shoulder, and placed him on the floor. 

" One of the party that was to cross," said 
the sergeant, then asked, " Much 'urt, old 

" Not much wrong," was the reply of the 
wounded man. " I'm sorry I'm not in the 
raid. I looked across, and then my shoulder 

" Well, I must get another man," said the 
sergeant. " You'll do, Reynolds. Get yer 
face blackened and get some bombs." 

The men set to work in the dug-out and 
blackened their faces, procured their bombs 
and brush-branches, and got into raiding 
order. In ten minutes' time they were out on 
the open, thirty men making towards the 
German trenches. 


The party advanced in open order, six yards 
interval between each man and his neighbour. 
Reynolds, neitfgthg | f pftf-fie of the line, had 






Original from 



Pryor on his right, Bowdy Benners on his left, 
whilst the sergeant, who led the party, moved 
warily along, a few yards in advance. From 
time to time he halted and waited for those 
who followed to come abreast, and issued 
orders which were passed from the centre to 
the flanks in whispers. He used the words, 
" darned unlucky," whenever he spoke. 

" Spread out from the centre," he cautioned. 
" The whole party's bunchin' up. If the 
henemy flings some dirt across, yer'll be 
darned unlucky." 

Again he gave the order, " Close in in the 
centre! You're losing touch. Some of yer'll 
be goin' into the German trench all alone; 
then yer'll be darned unlucky." 

Whenever a star-shell rose in air the raiders 
flung themselves flat to the ground and waited 
for the flare to die out. As they went down 
they placed the branches over their heads and 
held them there until the order to advance 
was given. Lying thus, they were immune 
from discovery, for an enemy patrol ten yards 
away would mistake the prone bundles under 
their covering of branches for derelict bushes 
which the fury of incessant shell -fire had 

Star-shells rose at frequent intervals from 
the enemy lines ; the British sent up very 
few. This is the case all along the line at the 
present time. The enemy, who is in eternal 
dread of raids, keeps up a continual watch 
over No Man's Land. The party was now 
half-way across and lying down, for a dozen 
star-shells went up in quick succession and lit 
the derelict levels with the brilliance of day. 

" They're getting the wind up," said Bowdy 
Benners, whispering across to Reynolds. 
" We'll have some dirty work 'fore we come 

The boy made no answer. Lying prone, 
he listened to the silence. How calm it was 
under the great glorious moon. It was as 
peaceful as the grave might be, but how much 
more beautiful. The night drew closer to him, 
it seemed, caressing his young head and body. 
He even felt sleepy. It would be good to lie 
there and rest. 

His eyes looked out in front on a dead man 
who lay there, scarcely a yard away. The boy 
did not feel afraid. That a dead soldier should 
be there seemed quite natural, in keeping 
with the new life which the youth had entered. 

l< I suppose he was killed on a raid," he 
thought. " I wonder if he was going out or 
coming back. What would mother " 

He looked at the dead soldier with a fresh 
interest, and his eyes filled with tears. 

He saw that the man was dressed in khaki, 

and he lay on his back, his knees up and his 
bayonet pointing in air. From the bayonet 
standard to the man's head stretched an 
unfinished cobweb on which the spider was 
still busily working, fashioning circle and line. 
Under the moonlight the web was a brilliant 
and beautiful dream. . . . 

" Come out 't, Reynolds," said the sergeant, 
who was annoyed because the boy had not 
heard the first order to advance. " We're 
not out on a six months' tour now. If yer 
think so, ye're darned unlucky." 

The men went forward at the double for 
a space and flung themselves down flat when 
they reached the enemy's barbed - wire 
entanglements. Those in the centre of the 
party could not get across ; the wires in 
front of them stood sturdily, untouched by 
artillery fire. 

" Lie low," the sergeant whispered to 
Bowdy Benners, " and pass the word along 
to the left. Ask them if there's an openin'. 
The same message to the right." 

The seconds crawled by until the answer 
came back from the left, " Opening here. 
Shall we go through ? " 

" Pass the message to the right, and tell 
them to close up," said the sergeant to Benners. 
" Also, those on the left get through and lie 
down on the other side of the wires until we 
join them. Pass it along." 

The message went its way, and the men in 
the centre followed it, stumbling and crouching 
low to avoid the eyes of the enemy sentinels. 
Reaching the opening, they lay down, their 
heads under the branches, and waited for the 
party to close in. Reynolds had a good view 
of the enemy's trench as he lay on the ground 
a dozen yards away from the reverse slope 
of the parapet. He saw the sandbags tilted 
at strange angles, looking for all the world 
like dead men huddled together in heaps. 
Immediately in front lay an unexploded shell 
perched on the rim of a small crater, and near 
it was a wooden box and a heap of tins. 
Somebody in the trench was singing a song 
in a low but clear voice. The night was full 
of the smell of burning wood ; probably the 
Germans were cooking a meal. Bowdy Benners 
and the sergeant lay in front of Reynolds, 
immovable as statues ; both might have been 
dead. Benners turned slowly around and 
crawled back again with a message. 

" When the sergeant lifts his branch and 
holds it over his head, prepare to advance," 
he whispered. " Get your bombs ready to 
throw. Pass it along to right and left." 

Fascinated, Reynolds watched the sergeant, 
saw him lie .stillnaGd feOTl for a full minute, 




then he raised the branch and held it over 
his head for an instant, brought it down again, 
and got to his feet. As one man the party 
rushed forward to the rim of the trench and 
began to fling their bombs in on the occupants. 
There was one explosion, then another, a third 
and a fourth. The Germans, taken unawares, 
raced from one bay to another, but the 
bombers waited for them at every turning. 
In their eyes the attack might have been 
delivered by an army corps. Death had 
crept up in the night out of the unknown. 
Men fell, yelled in agony, and became silent, 
their white faces showing ghastly on the floor 
of the trench when the smoke of the explosions 
died away. 

" Rattling good work ! Keep at it, boys ! " 
yelled the sergeant, standing on the parapet 
and drawing a pin from the shoulders of a 
bomb. " They're darned unlucky this 'ere 

He threw his missile at a German who was 
trying to enter the door of a dug-out, and 
stepped back to avoid the explosion. 

" Blimey, it's a barney ! " said Bill Teake, 
looking down in the trench. He had come 
to his last bomb, and, wanting to " make it 
tell," he threw it into a dug out door which 
showed in the wall of the parados. Followed 
an explosion, accompanied by agonized 

Twenty yards away Reynolds stood on a 
sandbag, a bomb in his hand, his eyes fixed 
upon a boy about his own age who, crouching 
against the wall of the trench, was looking 
up at him. 

Reynolds, full of military ardour, had 
rushed up to the attack when the order was 
given, and was on the point of flinging the 
bomb into the trench when he noticed the 
young German standing motionless, paralyzed 
with fear. Reynolds raised the bomb with 
the intention of throwing it, then brought it 
down again. The terrified foe frightened 
him. In the heat of passion Reynolds would 
have killed him, but to take away the life 
of that shivering, terrified creature was not a 
job for the youngish, newly-out. He gazed 
at the German, the German returned the 
gaze, perplexity looked at dread and became 
horrified. Killing was not an easy matter. 

Reynolds drew back a pace, his eye still 
fixed on the foe. The battle raged around 
him ; the flash of the bursting bombs almost 
blinded him, the explosions shook the ground, 
the flying splinters sang through the air. 

Suddenly the order to retire came down the 
line ; a brown figure rushed up to Reynolds 
shouting something about " getting out.'t," 

seized the bomb which the youngster held, 
and flung it into the trench on the youthful 

The party retired hurriedly ; their work 
was completed. " The sooner back the 
safer," the sergeant yelled. " They'll open 
up a machine-gun now and we'll be darned 
unlucky if we don't grease back." 

Already the enemy's rifles were speaking, 
and bullets swept by with a vicious hiss. 
The men stumbled through the opening in 
the barbed wires and rushed into the levels. 
Benners and Reynolds ran out together 
chuckling, pleased, no doubt, at the success 
of their enterprise. Bill Teake and the 
tattooed man followed ; the latter had lost 
his rifle, and vowed that he was always 

Suddenly Benners fell headlong to the 
ground. He was on his feet immediately 
and rushing forward again. 

" It's them darned wires," said the 
tattooed man. " They're scattered all over 
the place." 

As he spoke Reynolds went down for the 
second time, but did not rise again. Benners 
came to a halt and stooped over him. 

" Are you hit, chummy ? " he asked. 

" I got it through the breast," the boy 
replied. " It was that which brought me 
down the last time, not the wares." 

Reynolds was surrounded now by his 
comrades. He was sitting half upright, his 
head sinking towards his knees, the martial 
elation of a few minutes ago utterly gone. 

" Well, chummy, you'll be all right in 
time for breakfast," said Bill Teake, who 
expected that these words would buoy up 
the youngster's courage. But Reynolds 
seemed to pay no heed ; a cold and sorrowful 
expression settled on his white face, which 
looked strange and unearthly in the light of 
the moon. 

The sergeant cut open the youth's tunic 
and looked at the wound which showed red 
over the heart. There was very little 

" Oh, you'll be all right in no time," said 
the sergeant, in a voice which was strangely 
soft and kind. 

" No, no," said the boy, in a scarcely 
audible whisper. " Leave me to myself, 
please. I'll not live very long. It's too near 
the heart." 

These were the last words which the men 
heard him speak. Ten minutes later he had 
passed away. 

" I knevvpicJiirtaMruld pan out that way," 

-u.t t Seht 


i^^ *■* t."» 

» *■ * * 

>. ■ :■„*.* ir. J 

by Google 

Original from 



Two Army motor-cyclists, on the road at Adjbkml- 
przll, wish to go to Brczrtwxy, which, for the sake of 
brevity, are marked in the accompanying map as 

A and B. 
said: "I 
shall go to D, 
which is six 
miles, and 
then take the 
straight road 
to B, another 

- .. _ ~_ But Slipon- 

~ (D B s ky thought 

he would try the upper road by way of C. Curiously 
enough, they found on relerence to their cyclometers 
that the distance either way was exactly the same. 
This being sot they ought to have been able easily to 
apsver . the general's simple question, "How far is 
It from A to C ? '* • It can be done in the head in a 
few moments, if you only know how. Can the reader 
state. con ectly the distance ? 


A FaAmjb& once had 1 
on which stood twenty- 
lout trees, exactly as 
shown in the illustration 
He left instructions in 
his will that each ot his 
eight sons should receive 
the same amount of 
ground and the same 
number of trees. How 
was the land to be 
divided in the simplest 
possible manner? 



of ground 

* * 9 

♦ *« 

* S « « 



* * 

? <* * 

* ** 


Here is an easy little puzzle. A certain number is 
composed oi two digit* The number is eaual to 
five times the sum of its digits, and if you add nine 
to the number the positions of its digits will be re- 
versed. What is the number ? 


The story is 
told in all the old 
books that an 
economical and in- 
g e n i o u s school- 
master once wished 
to convert a cir- 
cular table-top, for 
which he had no 
use, into seats for 
two oval stools, 
each with a hand- 
hole in the centre. 
He instructed the 
carpenter to make 
the cuts as in the 
illustration, and 
then join the eight 
pieces together in 
the manner shown. 

So impressed was he with the ingenuity of his perform- 
ance that he set the puzzle to his geometry class ; and 
we now come to a part of the story that the master never 
published, but which will doubtless interest the reader. 
A clever youth suggested modestly to the master 
that the hand-holes were too big and that a small boy 
might perhaps fall through them. He therefore 
proposed another way of making the cuts that would 
not only get over this objection, but which would 
only require the table-top to be cut into six pieces, 
instead of eight. For his impertinence he received 
such severe chastisement that he lost his interest in 
stools altogether. What was the method he pro- 
posed ? Can you cut the circular table- top into only 
six pieces that will fit together and form two oval 
seats for stools, each of exactly the same size and 
shape and each having similar hand -holes of smaller 
dimensions than in the case shown above ? Of course, 
all the wood must,be used. I have a particular reason 
for giving this new improvement of the old cutting-out 


In the first diagram 
we have the numbers 
1 to 20 arranged in 
the twenty cells in 
regular numerical 
order. In the second 
diagram it will be 
found that they form 
a chess knight's path, 
ea ch successive 
number being a 

knight's move from 

the last. It will be 

noticed that the three 

encircled numbers, 

1, 6, and 13, have not 

been moved from their 

original places in the 

first diagram. The 

puzzle is so to recon- 

struct the knight's 

path arrangement that 

as many numbers as 

possible may be so left undisturbed. The discovery 

of the maximum will be found an entertaining little 



The guests at a ball thought that the clock had 
stopped because the hands appeared in exactly the 
same position as when the dancing began. But it 
was found that they had really only changed places. 
It is known that the dancing commenced between 
ten and eleven o'clock. What was the exact time of 
the start ? The ball broke up before daybreak. 









































Can you indicate, with two letters of the alphabet 
the familiar nickname of a departed British statesman, 
and, with one letter,, the political party to which he 
belonged ? 


9 6 



Solutions to Last Montk s Puzzles. 




THE correct reading of the cryptic arrangement 
of letters at the head of the articie is : 
" A little blacky (or darky) in bed with nothing 
over him.'/ 

One- third of twopence is the same as two-thirds 
of a penny, and therefore equal to two-ninths of 

In the lines beginning " Twice eight are ten of us, 
and ten but three," simply count the letters in the 
words. Thus " eight " contains five letters, arid twice 
five equals ten ; " ten " contains three letters, and so 
on throughout. 

The gardener had simply to make a mound in the 
shape of a tetrahedron or triangular pyramid, the 
three sides and base being equal equilateral triangles. 
If he then planted one shrub at the apex and the 
remaining three at the angles of the base, they would 
be at equal distances from each other. 

To describe an oval with 
one sweep of the compasses, 
all you need do is first to 
wrap your paper round a 
wine-bottle, canister, or other 
cylindrical object. Then it 
will be found easy enough. 

In order to mark on the 
four corners of a square, 
using the compasses only, 
first describe a circle, as in 
the diagram. Then, with the 
compasses open at the same 
distance, and starting from any point, A, in the 
circumference, mark off the points B, C, D. Now, 
with the centres A and D and the distance A C, 
describe arcs at E, and the distance E O is the side of 
the square sought. If, therefore, we mark off F and 
G from A with this distance, the points A, F, D, G 
will be the four corners of a perfect square. 

To divide a circular field into four equal parts by 
three fences of equal length, first divide the diameter 
of circle in four equal parts and then describe semi- 
circles on each side of the line in the manner shown 
in the diagram. The curved 
lines will be the required 

The two men, four hundred 
yards apart, each walked two 
hundred yards in a straight 
line with their faces towards 
each other, and at the end 
were still four hundred yards 
apart, because one of them, 
through some eccentricity 
about which we are not told, 
chose to walk his two hundred yards backwards ! 

The five Arab maxims are read in this way. First 
read alternately from the first and second rows, as 
follows : u Never tell all you may know, for he who 
tells everything he knows often tells more than he 
knows." Now read the first and third rows in the 
same way : " Never attempt all you can do," etc. ; 
then the first and fourth rows ; then the first and fifth, 
and finally the first and sixth. 

The error in the old puzzle of the twenty-five acres 
lies in the assumption that every man's acre of land 
was necessarily in the form of a square — a condition 
nowhere stated. The estate might easily be planned 

in some such simple way as in the diagram, where 

the governor's acre is still all in the centre, and yet 

he need only pass through 

one man's land to reach the 

outside. And if the whole 

of the governor's land need 

not be in the centre (and it 

is not clear even in this 

particular), then it can be 

arranged that a narrow strip 

of his acre extends to the 

outside, so that he need 

cross no man's land. This 

is an example of the careless 

wording of the conditions of a puzzle by old writers. 

" From half of five take one and let five remain " is 
solved in this way. Half of FIVE (that is, of the 
number of letters in the word) is IV (two letters), and 
if from this we take one (I), then five (V) remains. 

The solutions to the seven anagrams are as follows : — 

i. William Shakespeare. 

2. Oliver Goldsmith. 

3. William Hogarth. 

4. Joshua Reynolds. 

5. James Hogg. 

6. John Gay. 

7. Wordsworth. 

(By an error, 5. Ha ! Meg jogs, was unfortunately- 
printed Ha ! Meg Jones.) 

To nlake one word out of NEW DOOR we simply 
rearrange the letters as follows : ONE WORD ! 

The only king who was crowned in England since 
the Conquest was James I., who was already King 
of Scotland. The question was not, How many men 
have been crowned king ? 

The answers to the alphabetical conundrums are 
as follows : A is like noon because it is the middle of 
DAY. B is like fire because it makes OIL BOIL. 
C is like a schoolmistress because it makes CLASSES 
of LASSES. D is like a promontory because it is 
an extremity of LAND. E is like death because it 
is the end of LIFE. F is like Paris because it is the 
capital of FRANCE. G is like plum-cake because it 
makes a LAD GLAD. H is good for deafness because 
it makes the EAR HEAR. I is the happiest letter 
because it is in the centre of BLISS. J is like your 
nose because it is close to the eye (I). K is like a 
pig's tail because it is the end of PORK. L is like 
giving a sweetheart away because it makes OVER a 
LOVER. M is a favourite with miners because it 
makes ORE MORE. N is like a pig because it makes 
A STY NASTY. O is the only one of the five vowels 
that you can hear because all the others are in 
AUDIBLE (inaudible). P is like a man's firstborn 
because it makes A PA. Q is like a guide because it is 
always followed by you (U). R is like Richmond 
because it is next to Kew (Q). S is like a furnace in 
a battery because it makes HOT SHOT. T is like 
an island because it is in the middle of WATER. 
U is a miserable letter because it is always in 
TROUBLE and DIFFICULTIES. V is the spoony 
letter because it is always in LOVE. W is like scandal 
because it makes ILL W T ILL. X means " to join " 
because it stands for annex (an X). Y is like a pupil 
because it is in the middle of the EYE. Z is like a 
cage of monkeys because it is t.o be found in the Zoo. 




The figures 102840, properly read, contain advice 
to a person who has forgotten his luncheon, because 
they say, " One ought to wait for tea " (One ought 
two eight for-ty). 

The objects sought on looking at the king's head on 
a penny are these : A place of worship — temple. Part 
of a bottle — neck. Part of a hill — brow. A personal 

pronoun — I (eye). Part of a trunk — lid (of eye". 
Part of a whip — lash. A protection against thieves — 
lock. A river crossing — bridge. A badge of royalty — 
crown. A receptacle for corn — ear. 

The Sparkling puzzle is solved in this wav : 

Answers to tke Problems and Puzzles 
Christmas Number. 




The jewel thief's accomplice has* been told that the 
words of her instructions will come after all words 
ending in a particular letter of the alphabet, and 
that the closing sentence of the note she receives will 
give her the clue to the letter selected. 

The clue is " after tea" (" t "), and the eighteen 
words which follow all words ending in " t " form the 
hidden message. These words are : ** IN HOLE IN 


The following is the solution of the end-game 
' m referred to in the chess story entitled ** A Happy 
m Solution," published in our last number : — 

1 PtoK6; 2. 

QtoR6(a),QtoR 5 ,ch.; 3. 

Q (or B) takes Q, B to B 5 ; 4. Kt to Kt 3, B takes 
Kt and mates, very shortly, with R to R 8. 

(a) 2. Kt to Kt 4, Q takes Kt ; 3. Q (or P) takes 
Q (b), B to B 5 as before. ** 

(b) If 3. Q to R 6, Q to R 5, ch.. as before. 

If 2. P to K Kt 4, B to Kt 6 ; 3. Kt takes B, Q takes 
Kt and wins. 

The following is the proof, from the position of the 
pieces, that a white queen must have been taken by 
the pawn at Q Kt 3 : All the black men except two 
are on the board ; therefore White made only two 
captures. These two captures must have been made " 
with the two pawns now at K 5 and B 3, because 
they have left their original files. White, therefore, 
never made a capture with his Q R P, and therefore it 
never -got on to the knight's file. Therefore the black 
pawn at Q Kt 3 captured a piece (not a pawn). The 
game having been played at the odds of queen's rook, 
the white Q R was off the board before the game began, 
and the white K R was captured on its own square, 
or one of two adjacent squares, there being no way out 
for it. 

Now, since Black captured a piece with the pawn 
at Q Kt 3, and there are no white pieces oft the board 
(except the two white rooks that have been accounted 
for), it follows that whatever piece was captured by 
the pawn at Q Kt 3 must have been replaced on the 
board in exchange for the white Q R P when it reached 
its eighth square. It was not a rook that was captured 
at Q Kt 3, because the two white rooks have been 
otherwise accounted for. The pawn, on reaching its 
eighth square, cannot have been exchanged for a 
bishop, or the bishop would still be on that square, 
there being no way out for it, nor can the pawn have 
been exchanged for a knight for the same reason 
(remembering that the capture at Q Kt 3 must neces- 
sarily have happened before the pawn could reach its 
eighth square). 

Therefore the pawn was exchanged for a queen, and 
therefore it was a queen that wils captured at Q Kt 3, 
Vol liiL— 7. 

and when she went there she did not make a capture, 
because only two captures were made by White, both 
with pawns. Q.E.D. 


00, 100 ! DOUOO ? 

The above puzzle, published last month, contains 
an injunction, an assertion,' a question and its answer, 
and a statement, and it only needs a little patient 
study tor its meaning to become clear. 

The solution is as follows : — 

Owe nothing ; I owe nothing ! Do you owe nothing ? 

No, I do not owe nothing, but I do not owe more 
than a pound. 

You ought not to owe aught. 

The missing titles to last month's " Problem " 
Pictures, as given by the artists themselves, are as 
follows : — 

1. W. Heath Robinson—" Three Missionaries in the 

2. H. M. Bateman— " A S lake in Edsn." 

3. Ricardo Br>ok — " O.i, Poliv, how you've 
altered ! " 

4. Will Owen— " Triplets." 

5. Alfred Leete— " His First Smoke." 

6. Reg. F. Smith—" Art is Long." 

7. A. P. F. Ritchie—" What Dia It Fall From ?" 


Trick 1.— A leads the 4 of spades, Y the 6, B the 
ten ; won by Z with the queen. 

Trick 2. — Z leads 2 of clubs (nothing better) ; won 
by A with the king. 

Trick 3. — A leads a heart, Y the 7 ; won by B with 
the queen. 

Trick 4. — B leads ace of hearts and wins. 

Trick 5. — B leads high spade and wins. 

Trick 6. — B leads high spade and wins ; A discards 

Trick 7. — B leads heart, trumped by A. with the 

Trick 8. — A leads 3 of diamonds, B discards 3 of 
spades, Z is obliged to trump. 

And B must make the knave of trumps. 

Notes. — At trick 3, A cannot continue the spades. 
If he does, and if B, at trick 5, leads 3 of spades, Z will 
twi discard, but get rid of a small trump The attack 
is defeated. 

Similarly the attack fails if A opens at trick 1 with 
a heart ; or if B.^tliri^l tf'Ptoy* ll Wgh spade instead 

oflhe University of Michigan 





From "The Adventures of Hajji Baba t of 
Ispahan/' Ly James Moricr (1824)* 

Illustrated by 


and insolent, and would scarcely ever touch 

a head whose master was not at least a 

N the reign of the Caliph Haroun al " Beg " or an u Aga," Wood for fuel was 

Raschid, of happy memory, lived in always scarce and dear at Bagdad ; and, as 

the city of Bagdad a celebrated his shop consumed a great deal, the wood 


barber, of the name of AH Sakal. He was 

so famous for a steady hand, and dexterity 

in his profession, 

that he could 

shave a head and 

trim a beard and 

whiskers with his 

eyes blindfolded 

without once 

drawing blood, 

There was not a 

man of any fashion 

at Bagdad who did 

not employ him ; 

and sudi a run 

of business had 

he that at length 

he became proud 

cutters brought their loads to him in prefer- 
ence, almost sure of meeting with a ready 






safe. It happened one day that a poor wood- 
cutter, new in his profession, and ignorant of 
the character of Ali Sakal. went to his shop 
and offered him for sale a load of wood which 
he had just brought from a considerable 
distance in the country on his ass, Ali 
immediately offered him a price., making use 
of these words : " For all the wood that was 
upon the ass." The wood- cutter agreed, 
unloaded his beast, and asked for the money. 

li You have not given me all the wood yet"" 
said the barber* " I must have the pack- 
saddle (which is chiefly made of wood) into 
the bargain ; that was our agreement/' 

(t How ! " said the other, in great amaze- 
ment. " Who ever heard of such a bargain? 
It is impossible ." 

In short, after many words and much 
altercation, the overbearing barber seized the 
pack-saddle, wood and all, and sent away the 
poor peasant in great distress. He immedi- 
ately ran to the Cadi and stated his griefs ; 
the Cadi was one of the barber's customers, 

and refused to hear the case* The wood- 
cutter went to a higher judge ; he also 
patronized Ali Sakal. and made light of the 
complaint. The poor man then appealed to 
the Mufti himself* who, having pondered 
over the question, at length settled that it 
was too difficult a case for him to decide, 
no provision being made for it in the 
Koran, and therefore he must put up with 
his loss. 

The wood-cutter was not disheartened^ but 
forthwith got a scribe to write a petition to 
the Caliph himself, which he duly presented 
on Friday j the day when he went in state to 
the Mosque. The Caliph's punctuality in 
reading petitions is well known, and it was 
not long before the wood-cutter was called 
to his presence. When he had approached 
the Caliph he kneeled and kissed the ground, 
and then j placing his arms straight before 
him, his hands covered with the sleeves of his 
cloak and his feet close together, he awaited 
the decision of his case* 

^Q/iflinal from 




M Friend/' said the Caliph, 4+ the barber 

has words on his side — you have equity on 
yours, The law must be defined by words, 

there would be 
no faith bctv\<<n 
man and man , 
therefore the 
barber must keep 
all his *vood/' 

T hen, catling 

the wood -cutter 

close to him, the 

Caliph whispered 

something in his 

ear which none 

but he could 

hear, and then 

sent him away 

quite satisfied, 

A few days after he applied to the barber, 

as if nothing had happened between them, 

requesting that he and a companion of his 



and agreement* must be made by words ; from the country might enjoy the dexterity 
the former must have its course; or it is of his hand ; and the price at which both 
nothing ; and agreement a must be kept, or operations were to be performed was settled. 

» ^— — ■— ■ 

^' \ I i t — ■ L _LLJ-- 






When the wood-cutter's crown had been 
properly shorn^ AH Sakal asked where his 
companion was* 

t( This is ray 

companion/' said 

he, ' J and you 

must shave him/' 

11 Shave him ! " 

said the barber, 

in the greatest 

surprise. "It is 

enough that I 

have consented to 

demean myself by 

touching yoUj and 

do you insult me 

by asking me to 

do as much to 

your ass ? Away 

with yo^ or I'll send you both to Jehanum, 

and forthwith drove them out of his shop. 

The wood-cutter immediately went to the 


£t He # is just standing without \ere ? " said 
the other, ** and he shall come in presently," 

Accordingly he went out and returned, 
leading his ass after him by the halter. 

Caliph, was admitted to his presence, and 
related his case. " 'Tis well/ 1 said the 
Commander of the Faithful tl Bring AH 
Sakal and his razors to me this instant ! w 

he exclaimed to 
one of his officers ; 
and in the course 
of ten minutes the 
barber stood be- 
fore him. 

" Why do you 
refuse to shave 
this man's com- 



B »»«0i#i!i*M 

the Caliph to the 
barber* " Was not 
that your agree- 
ment ? " 

Ali, kissing the 

ground j answered s 

'"Tis true, O 

ntis instWF^" 1 ' 13 Caliph, that such 





was our agreement ; but who ever made a 
companion of an ass before, or who ever before 
thought of treating it like a true believer ? w 
** You may say right," said the Caliph; 

The barber was then obliged to prepare a 
great quantity of soap, to lather the beast 
from head to foot, and to shave him in tjie 
presence of the Caliph. 


-< but at the same time, who ever thought of The poor wood-cutter was then dismissed 

insisting upon a pack -saddle being included in with an appropriate present of money, and 

a load of wood? No, no, it is the wood- all Bagdad resounded with the story, and 

tu Iter's turn now. To the ass immediately, celebrated the justice of the Commander of 

or ypu know the consequences/' the Faithful. 

&. YK^ 

I V. 

riqinal from 




OUR readers will remember 
the striking article which 
appeared in our November num- 
ber, entitled " Doomed by the 
Kaiser to Ridi th." We 

were unable i at the 

time a photograph of Use tablet 
which was erected at the spot 
where the bicycle of the untor- 
Thanks, however t to the courtesy 
oi a corresf>onden< — the Rev 
R. \ liam, 

Kind's Lynn— who photographed 
the Cablet during his vistl to the 
scene of the tragedy a 

ccurred, we are no* 

oduce the snapshot which 
he has been good enougl 
send to us. The inscription sets 
forth that the tablet is set up in 
memory of Gustav von Hahnke, 
a naval lieutenant of the Kaisers 
yacht HokenzoUnHi and bears 
Ins c ms and, below, the 

same of Wilhelm II. We may 
add thai mir correspondent 
informs us thai during his visit, 

h took pkce a few 
the erection of the me- 
morial, he also heard whispei 
the > article related 

for the firsi I full. 



Tt 1 E a i 
pro d n c i n n 

photographing an 
object through the 
comj" e of 

an insect has from 
time to time been 
shown ; but that 
results can be 
produced hy the use 
of a minute portion of vegetable tissue is not so generally 
known. The tissue used for this purpose is the epi- 
dermis or outer skin of the leaf. This is competed of 
min>. i the outer surface an 

and on th tlai, It follows that when 

such is suitably mounted, each cell beco 

a perfect little plano-convex lens, capable, as the illtis- 
trai « i reproducing any object falling 

witl small size oi the 

will lie obtained when it is staled 
the whol an?er 

thuji e produced b 

ima^e produced in the present case will be n 
nizt>: I > .-it « i i -Mr, 

W- II- White, i krkJ4vtrpooL 


WOMAN is, in general, a very jealous being. 
When i man is paying too marked al 
tions to another woman, his wile will certainly 
be jealous. What, then, will she do in Japan? 
In i ■, she makes a straw fkg 

the dead of night she will go out Id and 

nail ihe figure to the trunk of a tree in a temple 
ground, cemetery, or any other dreary place* For 

several days 
she goes there 
r y night, 
driving a new 
nail into the 
figure. It is be- 
lieved t h a t on 
account of this 
fearful ordeal the 
hated rival will 
I ill, 
and become 
worse and worse 
tifl she passes 
a w r a y . — M r . 
Kiyoshi Sa ta- 
rn o to, Tokiwa- 
cho, Yamada, 




^rl ing 

Id in -r to 






.. Y S 

When PV6 
Yon II I & 

S?i d n tr Ki d 




You can 

send this 


Post Free 

to the 


5*# par* 205. 




inal from 

FEBRUARY, 191?) of Michigan 

PublUhed Monthly by QBOHGB NBWNBS, Ltd*. S to || t Southampton Street Strand, London* Engltt 

E»i 1 4 & J 

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can afford. PEARS* is pre-eminently an economical soap* 

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advertisement* sent on receipt of l/- in stamps or P.O. j 
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■-■I I >.| 1 1 I M I I I _M 1 1 


(""rw^nL'' Original from 




.-?. r'-Vi. .>. . ' 



HE farm at Basviller 
was situated on the 
very fringe of civili- 
zation ; in other 
won Is, within a 
thousand yards of 
the German trenches, 
Tasviller had changed hands many times in 
the course of the war, hut now the French 
had securely established themselves in the 
district and the peasant folk, by ones and 
twos, came drifting back to the ruins of 
their homes. 

The village was one of a little group of 
four, dotted about the landscape in pleasant 
proximity to each other. Their disposition 
afforded great advantages for concealed 
batteries, a fact which had been observed 
with satisfaction by the French and the 

VoU Tiu r — ft. Copyright, 1917, fey 

reverse by their enemies. With lavish 
expenditure of metal the Germans plastered 
first one , then another of the four villages 
with every conceivable form of shell, but 
without locating the batteries. 

The original owner of the farm had declined 
to leave when the great sweep in 1914 drove 
the country folk before it with irresistible 
pressure. He had also declined to offer the 
hospitality of his roof to the Invader, and had 
paid the extreme penalty for his temerity. 

Thus, for many months after the re-occupa- 
tion by the French, the farm was untenanted, 
and only tares flourished in the fields and 
meadows. There was small inducement to 
anyone to raise crops on the farm lands, which, 
for the most part, w F ere systematically swept 
by rifle and machine-gun fire. 

Then one day there arrived in the village 




a stranger, who went by the name of Citoyne 
Douille. His papers showed that he came 
from the North, where he had lost his lands 
as a result of the war. 

Douille was a silent man of some sixty 
years j and his deep, almost guttural voice 
was seldom heard. He would sit alone in a 
corner of the esiaminei, with his head buried 
on his chest and an everlasting straw pro- 
jecting from his mouth, 

11 I am a -farmer," he was heard to say, 
" and more readv with mv hands than my 
tongue. And now — he looked towards the 
east, where the German trenches crevassed 
the countryside and their star-shells rose like 
heacons in the night — 4t and now they, too, 
are silent, though they crave all the time for 

These words 
were repeated to 
the Mayor, who, 
more in a spirit 
of jest than ex- 
pectation that his 
proposal would be 
ac ce p t ed , stopped 
Douille in the road 
and said : — 

"Since your 
heart is wholly in 
the land, my 
triend, there is a 
fine farm here 
whose fields are 
t untitled. It could 
be had for a song, 
for, strangely 
enough, there is 
little competition 
in the market at 
the moment." 

Citoyne Douille 
did not reply for 
a space, then he 
said : — 

M The farm of 
Basviller ? Aye, 
one might do 
worse. They should 

The Mayor laughed, 
crop of lead, my son." 

4i What matter," came the answer, il if the 
rent be low? A man will not fall before his 

And so it chanced that the tenure of the 
farm came into the hands of Citoyne Douille. 

It was clearly evident that the old man 
meant business. He bought a fine new plough, 
and, after an absence of some ten days, 

returned at the head of a team of draught 
horses, the like of which the village had never 
seen before. There were four of these 
animals — one black, one white, the third a 
brave roan, and the fourth a ;^reat piebald 
beast nearly eighteen hands hi^h. A more 
harlequin team could not have been imagined. 
The Germans had been shelling Basviller 
on the day of his return, vainly searching for 

be fertile lands." 
il Thev raise a fine 



the concealed hattery. It was their custom 
to (l strafe " one or other of the four villages 
during the afternoon, Uegville had had her 
turn yesterday. Probably Luce would suffer 
on the morrow, unless Carreton should be 
the objective. 

As Citoyne Douille came over the brow of 
the hill whfch sloped down to Basviller, 
" rrumps " were dropping at regular inter- 
vals. An officer stopped him and pointed 
below. Original from 



" I should wait a bit/' he said, M It will 
be quieter presently*" 

Douille shrugged his shoulders. " If Mon- 
sieur permits t I will go forward/' he replied, 
" I shall fall when I shall fall/' He gathered 
up the ropes of his team and strode down 
the hill- 
Now at this spot the road was entirely 
exposed to the enemy lines, wherefore the 

Some days elapsed before Douille began 
operations upon his recently-acquired lands, 
and these he .spent in considering the purchase 
of agricultural implements. Folks in the 
different villages had things they were 
prepared to sell, but Douille was in no haste 
to make his choice. He inspected what 
Luce had to offer, then hurried off to Degville 
to compare the prices. At Degville he argued 

hotly that a farmer 
at Car re ton would 
offer him better 
value at a lower 
price. It seemed 
that his simple 
needs would never 
be satisfied, as for 
the best part of a 
w e e k he made 
a daily itinerary 
through the four 
v i 1 lageg j always 
returning at night 
with his money 

During this time, 
for some unex- 
plained reason, the 
Boche forsook his 
habit of shelling 
the villages, which 
enjoyed a period of 
immunity hitherto 
undreamed of, 

'* You are a long 
time making a 


said the 
to Citovne 


young officer, from the secure shelter of a 
hanging bank, held his breath and waited 
every instant to see the old man fall, But, 
strangely enough, no shot rang out, and 
stranger still, the shelling which had pro- 
ceeded with clockwork regularity for over two 
hours, ceased as if by magic. 

Citoyne Douille, chewing a straw, at the 
head of his motley team, marched down the 
silent street, while the people crept up from 
the cellars one by one to watch him pass. 

C lOOgie 


"There was 
much to be done," 
came the rejoinder, 
li but to-morrow f 
shall plough in the 
home meadow 
where the old 
trenches run*" 
<( Hardly!" said 
the M&yot, with a genial grin, " The home 
meadow is in full view of the German lines. 
There are securer places you would more 
wisely choose." 

ts I have made my choice/' replied Citoyne 
Douille, chewing his straw with a rotary 
movement of his heavy underhanging jaw. 

At dawn the old man's new ploughshare, 
drawn by the white horse, rattled along over 
the pm>i towards the gate of the home meadow. 
The news of his fntention had spread rapidly, 




and many a head was thrust through the 
broken panes of the windows to see the 
would-be suicide go by. 

The home meadow swelled upward in an 
easy slope and thence downward to where 
the opposing lines threaded the valley below. 
At the top Douille halted and lit his pipe. 
He looked towards the German trenches, 
barely a thousand yards away, and spat. 

There was an observation balloon hanging 
high up at the back of Basviller, and the 
observer touched his companion on the arm. 

" There is a darned fool, if ever I saw one," 
he said. " I wouldn't give five centimes for 
his chances in that spot." 

The second officer gave a short laugh. 

" The idiot with the white horse, you 
mean ? " 

Citoyne Douille had begun to plough. 
He began in the centre of the field and ran 
a line diagonally to the left hedge and back 
again. Then he waited for a while, as though 
for inspiration, and thereafter cut the ground 
in a complexity of different directions. To 
follow his many movements would be both 
difficult and profitless. Altogether he made 
about a score of furrows, running this way 
and that, and the newly-turned turfs showed 
bravely against the green grass. Even from 
their vantage over a mile away the two 
watchers in the French captive balloon could 
distinguish the lines with absolute distinct- 
ness. Eventually Douille stopped, unhitched 
his plough, and led the white horse to an 
angle between two of the furrows. Then, 
holding the horse by the head-rope, he sat 
down to eat his lunch. When he had 
finished he rose, threw a leg over the horse's 
back, and trotted, in a leisurely fashion, back 
to the village. 

" And they never fired a shot at you ? " 
inquired the excited host of the estaminet, 
where he halted for a glass of ale. 

Douille shook his head. 

"It is incredible. That is the very spot 
where Pierre Colgat was killed when chasing 
old Despretz's steer in May last." 

" Douille has a charmed life," said another. 
" The Boche has been silent ever since he 
came back to the district." 

44 Not a shell has fallen in the four villages 
since Douille's return," put in a third. 

But that afternoon the French battery at 
Degville, well masked though it had been, 
was knocked utterly out of existence. 

Citoyne Douille had gone to Luce to buy 
oats, and he passed through Degville on his 
homeward way and brought the ill news. 
The French commander bit o!T a large 


percentage of his stubbly moustache, and 
asked Heaven by what treachery or genius 
the German gunners had found the right spot. 
Also he made sundry dispositions, and sundry 
persons were extremely active at extremely 
late hours of the night. Many silent orders 
were given, and many men perspired freely 
as they hauled at a complexity of ropes. 

The next morning found Citoyne Douille 
again in the meadow, but this time the black 
horse was in the traces. He devoted a couple 
of hours to ploughing over the results of his 
activities of the day before, obliterating the 
intricate furrows and giving that area of the 
field quite a normal appearance. 

" He seems to have come to his senses," 
said the observer in the balloon. " Yesterday 
I thought he was quite mad." 

" Halloa!" said his companion; "he has 
begun the same game again." 

True enough, Citoyne Douille was once more 
cutting his odd bisecting lines^ which appeared 
to be guided by no laws of agriculture. He 
followed precisely the same programme as 
before, taking his lunch, at the conclusion of 
his labours, with the black horse by his side, 
in a little square of grass between four of the 
fresh-cut furrows. Then he mounted the 
horse and rode away. 

The observer rubbed his nose in perplexity. 

" I don't know what to make of it," he said. 

At three o'clock precisely a perfect ava- 
lanche of shells fell in a little back garden in 
the village of Luce, where the night before a 
battery of " heavies " had been emplaced. 

The French commander raised a devout 
prayer of gratitude for the impulse which had 
prompted him to order the shift. The 
devotional mood having passed, he was 
possessed by an equal fury against some 
person or persons unknown who were con- 
veying vital intelligence to the enemy. By 
his orders every battery in the neighbourhood 
was again moved — an operation which greatly 
disturbed Citoyne Douille's night's rest, and 
caused him to go out into the street to inquire 
into the cause of the noise. 

Very early in the morning Douille went 
over to Carreton to make arrangements with 
the blacksmith to shoe his team on the 
morrow. The smith was a loquacious person 
who loved a gossip. 

" The Boche was busy at Luce yesterday 
afternoon," he remarked ; adding, with a 
note of satisfaction, " but he did not find the 

Douille raised his eyes slowly. 

" So ! " he said. " That is well. The loss 
at Degville musft not ht repeated." 




" Our commander will look to that/' said 
the smith ; " he takes no chances. Maybe 
you noticed yourself fresh wheel-tracks lead- 
ing into the school-yard. There were busy 
doings in Carreton last night. " 

Citoyne Douille shrugged his shoulders. 
"lama farmer," he said, " and I do not heed 
these matters/ ' 

But, tramping home, he could not fail to 
observe the tracks of some heavy vehicle 
which turned aside into the little school-yard. 

This journey to Carreton made him late 
at work in his fields. This, perhaps, was the 
reason why, instead of ploughing out the 
furrows he had made the day before, he let 
them remain, and commenced a new jig-saw 
puzzle in a different part of the meadow with 
the aid of the piebald horse. He appeared 
to have some difficulty in deciding where to . 
have his lunch, but eventually the decision 
was made and the lunch eaten in the same 
circumstances as before. 

And the battery at Carreton was put out 
of action by concentrated shell fire as the 
sun dropped over the wooded fringe of the 
surrounding hills. 

" That old man ploughs with a different 
horse every day," said the observer. " See, 
this is a roan." 

The roan was a sturdy beast, and made 
short work of the piece of ground which 
Douille had been tilling the day before. In 
an hour and a half all trace of the work was 
gone, and Douille was busy again in yet 
another corner of the meadow. 

" I cannot understand the system," pro- 
ceeded the young French officer. " The first 
day he ploughs an insane pattern and the 
next he ploughs it out. Then he leaves one 
pattern, makes another, and obliterates it. 
And now he is starting on a fourth. There is 
something decidedly queer in the business." 
And through his powerful binoculars he 
watched the movements of the old farmer as 
he crossed and re-crossed the meadow below. 

It was merely by chance that he switched 
his gaze from the old man's work to the 
village of Basviller and back again. Viewed 
from above, Basviller appeared as a mere 
tracery of lines where one street bisected 
another. Viewed from above, the furrows 
Citoyne Douille was cutting showed likewise 
as a tracery of lines, one bisecting another. 

Then in a flash the amazing similarity 
between the angles and squares of the village 
and those in the meadow smote the observer's 
brain, and he gave a great shout of amazement. 

" By thunder ! " he cried, " I see what it 


by L^OOgle 

He picked up the telephone instrument, 
through which he gave several very impera- 
tive orders, the gist of which was that the 
guns at Basviller must be moved with all 
available speed and at any cost. 

44 If you could spare the time," said his 
companion, " I should like to know what all 
this is about." 

The observer pointed below. 

" Our old friend is cutting with his plough 
a map of the village. In an hour he will 
have finished, and will lead that roan horse 
to a certain spot in those lines and innocently 
eat his lunch. That spot will represent 
where the battery of Basviller is located." 

There was a silence. 

" I see," said the other, very slowly. 
Then he threw back his head and emitted an 
expression of astonishing violence. 

Moving a battery by daylight is neither a 
very usual nor a very wise proceeding. 
Nevertheless it was accomplished with sur- 
prising expedition and discretion. The guns 
were passing between an avenue of trees a 
mile away before the first German shell fell 
on the site of their old position. 

Citoyne Douille did not return to the 
village during the bombardment. As we 
know, he had made an appointment with the 
Carreton blacksmith that afternoon. To save 
himself the irksome necessity of going back 
to fetch the rest of his team he had brought 
them with him and tethered the three he was 
not using to a gate by the roadside. On 
his way to Carreton he met a French officer, 
who stopped him with a few words of praise 
on the quality of his horses. 

" I have seldom seen a finer team," he 
remarked. " And what are the names you 
have given them ? " 

Citoyne Douille replied that he had given 
them no names. 

" Then, my friend, I would christen them 
thus," said the officer. " The white one I 
would call Degville, the black Luce, the 
piebald " 

But the straw had fallen from Citoyne 
Douille's mouth, and a hateful whiteness 
crept over his knotty features before the 
officer had named the remaining two. 

The farm at Basviller is scarred with many 
an evidence of war, and there is one spot where 
some eight rifle bullets struck upon a single 
brick. That brick is roughly four feet six 
inches from the ground, or the height, one 
might say, of a man's heart — a man standing 
with his back against the whitewashed wall 
and a kerchief over his eyes. 


Getting Acquainted 
\Vitn Yourself. 





' T is said that if 
a man met him- 
self in the street 
he would not recog- 
nize himself* I doubt 
it. Just like a 
woman , he would 
be struck by the 
clothes. He would 
look twice, and then 
he would ex claim , 
14 That chap is wear- 
ing my clothes ! " 
And he might notice 
a peculiarity of watch-chain or tie-pin. Finally 
he would say, u Good heavens, it's myself ! " 
That this would probably be the process 
of recognition is shown by the experience of 
many thousands of persons who have glimpsed 
themselves in unsuspected mirrors and for 
an instant thought they were looking at a 
mysterious stranger, 

Still, though recognition would generally 
take plate, in the singular circumstance of 
a man meeting himself, it would include the 
element of surprise, even of extreme surprise. 
The thought would run through the brain , 
" Do I really look like that ? " To which 
the world of his acquaintance would he 
justified in replying, perhaps sardonically, 
" You just do ! " And why should a man so 
easily recognize himself ? Despite the bene- 
ficent and powerful institution of the mirror, 
he never truly sees his own image. The 
mirror makes the left hand the right hand, 
appreciably changing the faces of all except 
the very few who have strictly " regular 
features'" Moreover, the mirror seldom shows 
the whole of a man. And still more seldom 

Copyright , 191 7 , 

does it show his 
figure in gesture or ; 
perambu la to ry 
motion. Hence it is 
not surprising that 
a man should be sur- 
prised at his own 
appearance if he met 
himself, or that his 
r eeogni t ion o f hi msclf 
should proceed from 
inessentials such as 
sartorial pecu 1 ia ri - 
ties or a game- leg. 
The fact is, when we walk about, we don't 
a bit realize who it is that is walking about. 

All which, though true, has the quality 
of a parable. 

To say that a man w r ould recognize himself 

only with difficulty is to sav that he has no 

■ ■* 
comprehensive idea of the visual impression 

which he is making every day of his life on 
other people. Similarly it may be asserted 
that he has no comprehensive idea of the 
impression which his personality as a whole 
is making on other people. (The word t( man " 
is intended to apply to the genus, not to a 
particular sex.) He goes into his office, his 
club, a shop, and begins to talk and to act, 
and he thereby creates two sorts of impres- 
sions, an impression on himself and impressions 
upon others. The impressions of the latter 
class will not all be precisely alike, but they 
will broadly resemble each other, and nothing 
is more certain than that they will differ 
immensely from the impression which he is 
making on himself. Few men take the trouble 
to conceive this difference. A man will reflect 
long and s^rtfiflrijfl^flpowfc his conscience, about 




his ultimate aim in life, about his everlasting 
welfare, but he seldom gives a thought to 
the real effect of his ordinary " dailiness " 
upon his fellows. 

His own judgment of his fellows is for the 
most part very detached and unbiased. He 
discerns , for example, their faults as plain 
faults. He is not specially anxious to see only 
the best in them. He watches a friend come 
into a drawing-room } and his attitude towards 
that friend is a neutral attitude. Affection 
may induce him to condone defects, but it 
will not render the defects invisible, nor will it 
prevent the secret exasperation which defects 
sometimes cause ? nor w T ill it do away with 
the sense of the ridiculous. But when he 
himself enters a drawing-room, only in the 
rarest instances does it occur to him that he 
may be regarded in any manner as either 
exasperating or ridiculous, or as aught but 
a very decent, well-meaning individual de- 
cidedly above the average. He has the notion 
that his fellows have agreed to a " most- 
favoured-nation '* clause for him, and that 
they will take unusual pains to understand 
the excellence of his intentions, and that they 
will somehow hesitate before judging him 
adversely. In a word, that they will do 
their utmost to make their own verdict 
upon him coincide with his verdict upon 

This notion is, of course t a simple illusion, 
and will not bear examination. The two 
verdicts will never agree, and in the average 
case they will be miles apart, It is not always, 
or perhaps often^ that the outside verdict is 
very much more adverse than the inside 
verdict. It is chiefly a different verdict, 
another verdict, though as a rule a rather 
less flattering one, 1L But/' says the man 
himself, " I know more about my personality 
than my acquaintances. Therefore my verdict 
is more likely to he right/' Not so. He 
who could not at the first glance recognize 
himself in the street surely cannot claim any 
exhaustive knowledge of himself, A man's 
knowledge of himself may be infallible so far 
as it goes. But his acquaintances' knowledge 
of him is also infallible so far as it goes, Man 
is social. Much of his activity is given to the 
attempt to produce a desired effect on his 
fellows. His fellows alone know whether that 
desired effect has or has not been produced 
on them. Their decision on the point is and 
must be final. It follows that the two verdicts, 
the outside and the inside, possess equal 
authority. The one is the complement of the 
other. And the man who does not regularly 
try to realize imaginatively how his personality 

Glimpsed mem&aWs 

in zonsu speefed mirrors 

Do I really 

He mereo> r creeps 

-two &orta cf impressions, 




Attempt -to 

produce <a desir&l e$eci 

An attentive and receptive attitude 
Digitized by ItjOO 1 

presents itself to others has not fully and 
honestly tried to know himself. 

I now seem to hear the terrible word 
" morbid." I seem to hear the warning from 
the average common-sense reader that atten- 
tion to the opinions of others is a sign of 
morbidity or will induce morbidity, I wish 
it would, for what is the matter with most 
people is that they are not morbid enough. 
From which I mean that far from being 
el unnaturally susceptible " — as the dictionary 
definition has it— they are naturally unsus- 
ceptible to the opinions of others about them- 
selves. They laugh them away. They forget 
them utterly. They ignore them* They deny 
them. Above all, they refuse to take a hint, 
and if indications go beyond a hint they are 
apt to get cantankerous. The consequence is 
that society has reached a stage in which it is 
rather difficult for a man to find out what im- 
pression he really is making upon his fellows. 

Still, the impression can be found out ; 
the outside verdict can be more or less arrived 
at. How ? Well, chiefly by the mere desire 
to find it out and arrive at it! by the cultiva- 
tion of an attentive and receptive attitude, 
by keeping the eyes open, not to mention the 
ears, and, as much as anything, by paying 
heed to jocular criticisms. However ex- 
aggerated or contrary to fact a jocular 
criticism may seem, there is always something 
true in it, or at worst it suggests a truth by 
deliberately turning its back on that truth. 
Similarly in a man's own jokes there is always 
some clue to the outside verdict upon him. 
This may appear strange, but it is so. For 
example, a mean man will often make jokes 
about meanness, quite convinced that he is 
not really mean, and quite unaware that he is 
subconsciously revealing that aspect of his 
character which consciously he has never 
seen. Always examine the general tendency 
of your own jokes if you want to become 
acquainted with yourself. The proverb to the 
effect that there is many a true word spoken 
in jest falls short of the fact, which is that in 
every jest there is a true word. 

Let it be added that no useful results in the 
way of information about the outside verdict 
will be reached without careful reflection. 
The subject is a superlatively interesting one 
— it will repay long reflection quite as well 
as many other subjects upon which people 
do constantly reflect, such as clothes, office 
organisation, golf- strokes, or infinity. 

And when some genuine information has 
been acquired about the outside verdict, 
when the man has at last succeeded, as it 
were, in meeting himself in the street and 




recognizing himself — for that is what the + 
feut amounts to — what then ? Is there to be 
any sequel, or not, in the shape of altered 
conduct ? Well, I maintain that even with- 
out a sequel the knowledge is worth having. 
But I also maintain that a sequel is inevitable, 
I do not maintain that any given reader of 
this essay is not perfect. I simply suggest 
that there is just a possibility of his being 
imperfect— slightly, perhaps, but still im- 
perfect—and that a comparison of the out- 
side and the inside verdicts may lead to the 
discovery of the imperfection, if any, which 
without such comparison might have remained 
for ever undiscovered by the person prin- 
cipally concerned- The person principally 
concerned may deny the imperfect ion thus 
discovered; he may deny it with sincerity, he 
may honestly defend the inside verdict against 
the outside verdict, Nevertheless a change 
will ensue in him. It may be only a half- 
change, or only a temporary change, grudg- 
ingly effected, but it will occur. He may even 
regard it as a change for the worse, but it will 
occur. And after it has occurred the chance 
of it ever being regretted will be remote. 

A man may discover, let us say, that he 
has a reputation for speaking evil of people. 
He will resent it. He will be seriously con- 
vinced that he does not speak evil of people, 
hut only the truth about them, and if the 
truth about people happens to be discreditable 
that is not his fault. (All backbiters reason 
thus with themselves.) But he will be more 
careful in future- — at any rate, for a time. 
He will experiment with his character. The 
pity is that he will not experiment drastically. 
He ought to say to himself , " There is nothing 
in this accusation of bark biting. But still 
I will humour the world- To-day and for seven 
days henceforward, whenever I am about to 
say something derogatory about somebody 
I will refrain from saying it, and I will take 
the earliest opportunity of saying something 
favourable about that very person." The 
oftener he forgets his resolution and fails to 
execute it s the stronger will be the pre- 
sumption that the outside verdict was correct. 
He will forpet and fail very often. But if he 
will stick to the enterprise he will succeed in 
stamping on that habit and stamping it out, 
and gradually he will admit to himself that 
there was something in the outside verdict 
after all, And he will have experienced the 
excellent tonic effect of a resolution duly 
executed. And finally he will say, u I am 
going to pursue this acquaintance with 
m%'self ; fori am much more interesting than 

i bought i was ." :d by Google 

I«ti 6bin<S -*o -pursue -this 

Jriginal fro'i^ " 


IN April HoIIender was ap- 
pointed to take oharge of 
the London branch of the 
Associated News Exchange, 
and the same month saw 
him cross from New York t?o 
look over the field before 
accepting definitely. His hesitation was due 
to the fact that he would not live anywhere 
without his wife, and his position was such 
that he could afford to refuse to place her in 
uncongenial surroundings. The crossing was 
uneventful ; so was the trip up to London on 
the beat-train, save for one ludicrous incident, 
For a man of his attainments, HoIIender 
was young — only thirty- seven— and in spite 
of a close-cropped moustache looked some 
years under his age* He also looked very 
lonely } and had been promptly adopted on 
board by two of his table companions, Mr. 
and Mrs. BIyth, BIyth was a rotund little 
man with a twinkle in his eye ; / his wife was 
one of those apparently sort, caressible 
women that seem ready to mother the whole 
world, but that will stand for no mothering 
themselves except at the hands of their 
lawfully- wedded husbands J She was very 

An innocuous youth named Smith attached 
himself to the trio. He seemed content to sit 
by the hour where he could gaze at Mrs. 
Blvth's pink cheeks and full red lips. He 



Illustrated by Lewis Baumer. 

never made any advances save with his 
predatory eyes, and they offered just that 
shade of adoration that a woman of her type 
can absorb in large doses with an easy 

It was natural that the four should 
engage a compartment for the journey up to 
London j and as Mrs. BIyth, though a good 
sailor, had a slight tendency to train-sick- 
ness, it was just as natural that BIyth should 
get up and pass to a smoking compartment 
when he wanted to enjoy a cigar. 

It was during one of these absences that 
the train plunged into a long tunnel. Just 
before darkness engulfed them HoIIender and 
Smith were lounging on one side of the com- 
partment, while Mrs. BIyth sat on the other, 
looking very demure, very pink- cheeked and 
red-lipped. When they came out of the 
tunnel the two men were still lounging, but 
Mrs. BIyth was sitting tensely erect, her 
cheeks pale, and her lips drawn into a thin 
white line that made her look almost ugly. 
In her demure eyes were tears of rage, 

While Smith and HoIIender were still 
staring open-mouthed at the transformation 
in their vis-a-vis, BIyth hurried back, looked 
at them with a puzzled frown on his face, and 
then at his wife, " My dear/' he said f 
41 what on earth has happened ? M 

Mrs. Blyth's eyes snapped furiously from 
one to the other of the two men seated before 
her, Her glance searched their faces and fell 
back on itself, baffled, " While we were in 
the tunnel/' she gulped, over a sob in her 
throat, a one of these— these men — -kissed 
me on the mouth," 

HoIIender came erect with a jerk, and 
turned on Smith. " Miserable little pup ! " 
he exclaimed. At the same moment Smith 
turned on HoIIender, his eyes blazing with 
the fire of the worshipper who sees his most 
sacred shrine defiled- " You cad ! " he 

BIyth burst into a roar of laughter. His 
wife , Smith, and HoIIender, caught by that 
broadside of mirth at the height of their 



ix 7 

emotional flighty held their breath and hung 
poised as though on the verge of a sickening 
fall j then Mrs, Blyth spoke rapidly, as if 
she had barely time to get out the words, 
** Wellj what are you going to do about it ? " 

11 Me ? M said Blyth. %t I think Fve done 
enough. Wh'le we were in the tunnel some- 
how I felt like kissing you — so I slipped back 
and — and did it ! ?> He collapsed into a seat 
and roared again, Mrs, Blyth gave one 
hysterical gulp^ and then she laughed too. 
Presently they were all laughing, and kept it 
up till they were worn out. 

After that each sat in his corner and dozed, 
or pretended to 
doze, Hollender 
was not sleeping ; 
he was thinking 
hard. "Smith/ 1 
he said to him- 
self T " is all right; 
so am I, so is 
Mrs, Blyth. But 
Blyth has got a 
coarse streak. 
He's a bounder. 
He put his own 
wife in a difficult 
position- What 
if she had pre- 
tended nothing 
had happened ? 
How would Blyth 
be feeling now ? 
But she didn't. 
She's true blue 
through and 
through. But 
Blyth is a 
bounder and a 
fooL He risked 
his own happi- 
nesSj his peace of 
m i n d, for the 
sake of a joke," 

found conditions 
in London satisfactory, and three months later 
returned to America to fetch his wife. He 
always thought of her as the Girl, with a big 
Gj for she was the most wonderful thing that 
had ever come into his life. He had a right 
to be proud of hen She was clean inside and 
out i long and supple , clear-skinned, and with 
the light in her face that is the essence of 
beauty* Seeing her in a hot room one 
thought of coot breezes , and to look into her 
eyes was like catching a glimpse of lilac 
plumes tossing in a high w T ind, 

Scarcely had she stepped aboard when a 
court formed about her. There was nothing 
new in that* She was accustomed to it ; 
so was Hollender. He watched her si ling 
the personalities that gathered near her as 
he had often watched before, and saw her 
rapidly winnow away the chaff till only two 
men remained. They were worth while : she 
would keep them. Each was too big in his 
own way to slip through the large mesh of 
her net. 

There is always suggestion in a coincidence, 
however far-fetched. " It happened just so 
before," invariably sends the mind off on a 



IN HEft 

speculative tangent. Hollender never stopped 
to think how natural it was that he should find 
himself, his wife, and the two men together in 
a compartment of the boat- train to London. 
Consequently he thought he found himself 
face to face with a .significant coincidence, 
and his mind promptly wandered off to 
thoughts of the Blyths. 

He remembered the harsh judgment he 
had passed on Blyth, and wondered how he 
could ha%*e been so hard on the little man 
with a twinkle in his eye. There were two 




sides to that question — perhaps three. 
Probably Blyth had been merely boyishly 
thoughtless when he played that practical 
joke, or he may have been a bounder, or — 
yes — there was the third side. Perhaps he 
had deliberately put his wife to the test to 
settle all doubt for ever, willingly gambling 
content to win a fuller happiness. 

Hollender's thoughts turned to Mrs. Blyth 
and the role she had played in the scene of 
three months before. How well she had come 
out of the test ! How complete had been 
her reaction ! How more than lovable she 
must have been to her husband in her white- 
lipped rage at the supposed profanation of 
her person ! After all, Blyth had the satis- 
faction for all time of knowing that his wife 
was true blue through and through. 

Hollender glanced at his own wife and at 
the two men sitting one on each side of her. 
She was listening to their talk. There was 
colour in her cheeks ; her well-formed lips 
were half parted, and her eyes, passing 
absently across his face, left their unfailing 
impression of lilacs tossing in the wind. Her 
whole person was set in a note of high 
vitality. She was altogether desirable, and of 
a type far above that of the soft and pretty 
Mrs. Blyth. 

The two men were scarcely less remarkable. 
One was a civil engineer, to whom the whole 
world was as the palm of his hand. When he 
talked in a low monotone one saw strange 
lands, felt the illimitable distances of barren 
plains. The other was a gentleman soldier, 
a volunteer, just recovered from a wound. 
He was on his way back to the Front. He 
talked with absolute detachment of the 
changing face of Death. He knew the face of 
Death as familiarly as he knew his Canadian 

These two were undoubtedly women's men, 
but they were not philanderers. One could 
imagine either one of them tossing away 
ambition and all he possessed for love of the 
one woman. Such men rise seldom to the 
fly of womanly charm, but, once caught, they 
are not lightly cast aside. 

Hollender studied their faces, glanced at 
his wife, and brooded. He saw himself and 
these three people as on a plane infinitely 
above the innocuous Smith and the Blyths. 
In his exaltation he felt securely above the 
level of vulgarity. "What a test!" he 
thought to himself. " What a test it would 
be ! " and smiled. 

Then something his wife did or said, some 
faint movement of her hand toward the 
soldier, some little thing, so quickly passed 

Digitized by OOOgle 

that the brain could not altogether seize it, 
wiped the smile from his face. For a moment 
he wondered vaguely what was coming over 
him ; then his thoughts took form and direc- 
tion. What man, after all, is absolutely 
sure ? How many men have been fools to 
their wives and all the world through a too- 
perfect trust ? 

" What rot ! " he cried to himself, and 
shrugged his shoulders as though to shake 
off his mood. But his nerves refused to be 
steadied so easily. He arose, felt his pockets 
to see if he had cigarettes and matches, said 
he was going out for a smoke, and passed into 
the corridor. He had not gone five steps 
when the train plunged into the tunnel. 
Almost without volition he paused, turned, 
crept back to the compartment, and stooped 
over his wife. 

He remembered just how she had been 
sitting, with her hat off, and her head thrown 
back against the partition cushion of the 
high upholstered seat. He bent over her 
till he felt her faint breath. He laid his lips 
gently on hers. For the fraction of a second 
she recoiled, then to his horror her lips came 
forward and caressed his mouth with a soft, 
silent kiss. 

With his brain in a mad whirl he stole 
from the compartment and staggered down 
the corridor. The train shot out of the 
tunnel into the glare of a rare sunny day, 
but his eyes were so blurred he could scarcely 
see. He stumbled along until he found an 
empty compartment, temporarily vacated by 
people gone to dinner at the first call. He 
sat down and stared before him. Presently 
he noticed that his hands and knees were 

" You asked for it," he said aloud to him- 
self. " You asked for it." 

His own voice sounded strange to his ears. 
For the first time in his life he felt like two 
distinct persons. His own self, the self he 
had always known, stood apart and stared 
accusingly at the new and shaken being that 
he had become. He felt as though he were 
literally in the air — as though all solid purchase 
had been swept from beneath his feet. 

One thought penetrated the chaos in his 
brain. " You must go back. You must pull 
your two selves together and go back. You 
must go back as though nothing had happened 
— as though you knew nothing." 

Gradually he steadied his muscles. He 
arose and walked up and down, a cigarette 
held absently between his fingers. He had 
forgotten to light it. He puffed on it two 
or three times before V noticed that it was 

-- I I L| 1 1 I u I I I '.' I I I 




unlighted, then he struck a match and watched 
the flame tremble. That would never do. 
He struck another and another until one 
burned quite steadily. He lit the cigarette 
and smoked it rapidly. 

When he returned to his owti compart- 
ment he found the two men sitting exactly 
as he had left them, but his wife had slightly 
changed her position. She held her hat in her 
lap loosely, both hands playing with its brim 
absently. Her eyes were half closed, and 
there was a tiny tilt to the corners of her 
mouth, as though it were on the verge of 
smiling. She was not talking or listening. 
In her face was a lo6k of withdrawal, as if 
her thoughts had stopped to linger at some 
point long passed by her companions. 

Hollender sat down opposite his wife, but 
found he could not bear to look at her. Just 
as he arose to change his seat her eyes swept 
up and passed swiftly over his face. Her 
mouth seemed more than ever on the verge 
of breaking into a smile. He tried to smile 
back, but he felt that it was a failure. His 
lips seemed stretched into a straight line that 
would not bend. He felt his heart pounding. 
" She can look at you and smile," he thought, 

It was the first bitter thought he had ever 
had of his wife. It helped him ; stiffened his 
backbone and hardened his nerves. But the 
strange feeling of having suddenly become 
two persons still clung to him. He thought 
to himself in dialogue. His old half said to 
the new, u At any rate, you know where you 
stand. You asked for it, you got it ; now 
take it and use it." All the rest of the way 
to London his new self answered back with 
mumblings and weak interjections, "Why? 
Why? My God!" 

But, in spite of the strengthening bitter- 
ness, he felt a great gulp of self-pity as he 
showed his wife into the charming flat he 
had taken. She flew from room to room 
and from low laugh to low laugh, for Hollender 
had achieved a stroke of genius. The flat 
contained only bare necessities. In each 
room was a large sign, " Imagine curtains and 
portieres, 99 or " Imagine cretonnes/' 

The Girl felt a lump rise in her throat. 
How wonderful that a mere man should 
have guarded her against the inevitable 
loneliness of a strange environment by 
reserving to her the master solace of beauti- 
fying her new home. Wordless, she turned 
to him, put her arms around his neck, and 
kissed him. 

He had to make an effort not to answer 
that caress with a shiver, for to him the Girl 

itized by V^OOglC . 

was not here, the Girl for whom he had 
planned and remembered. In her stead had 
come a strange woman, a wonderful woman, 
such as a king might covet, but a stranger, a 
mystery. At kisfcing her he felt a thrill, new 
and astounding, as though his lips had tasted 
of the illicit. 

For a moment he was horrified, then the 
internal dialogue began again, and he argued 
himself back to a sanity founded on reason 
and facts. He did not know that reason 
and facts are but will-o'-the-wisps in the 
realm of emotion. In spite of them the 
truth remained ; his wife was a strange 

But it was only to Hollender's distorted 
vision that the Girl was withdrawn. She 
herself was in the flat. She had been there 
all the time. She had felt a great surge of 
tenderness as she passed swiftly from one 
evidence to another of his thoughtfulness, 
and had turned to him with her heart in her 
hands and on her lips. The next moment 
she had come up against him as a barrier. 
She had found herself suddenly torn one way 
by his burning eyes and another by his un- 
smiling face. 

She had plenty of time to puzzle over 
the change that had taken place in Hollender 
and in their relations, for he was less with her 
now than at any other period of their marriage. 
At first he laid it to his work and its uneven 
demands on his time, but as the days passed 
he omitted subterfuges. She could feel him 
twitching in her presence as though under 
an irksome restraint, and when he would 
suddenly rise and prepare to go out, she was 
too hurt even to raise her eyes in question. 

If his wife was under a strain, Hollender 
was doubly so. He had to fight not only 
against circumstances, but against himself. 
He was constantly haling himself before a 
tribunal, trying himself over and over again, 
and finding no acquittal ; only a relief in 
bitterness at the memory of the overwhelming 
discovery he made on the train. The Girl 
was gone for ever ; there remained this 
woman whom he could never trust. 

More than once he left his work hurriedly 
to dash to the flat on some flimsy pretext, 
but really only to find out what his wife was 
doing. On each of these occasions he started 
out possessed by mad speculations ; on each 
he returned feeling demeaned, assured by his 
tardy sanity that he had lowered himself, 
was constantly lowering himself. Life became 
a vile thing, dragging him and all that he 
touched down to an unaccustomed level. 
He hated himself when he was away from his 




wife, he despised himself on these occasions 
when he smothered memory in a cloak of hot 

Four weeks, each burdened with the strain 
of a normal year, dragged slowly by ; then 
one evening, when Hollender arose and 
started toward the door, his wife stopped him. 

" You're not going out to-night," she said. 
" I want to talk to you." 

He turned and stared at her. Her voice 
had sounded like an echo from former days. 
For a moment he saw her with the eyes that 
had known only the Girl. He felt a shock. 
If this was indeed the Girl, her arms had gone 
strangely thin. Under her eyes there were 
shadows and pale cheeks, and a mouth drawn 
down at the corners. In her eyes themselves 
was a faded light, as of lilacs wilted in too hot 
a sun. He stared at her lips and remembered. 

" Well ? " he asked, flushing under the 

" I want you to sit down and listen to me," 
said the Girl, leaning forward, her arms out- 
stretched on the table before her. " I don't 
know what's the matter. You haven't cared 
to tell me. I only know that there is a great 
deal the matter ; so much that it is not only 
separating us, it's doing more. It's breaking 
us. Something has changed you terribly. I 
don't know what it is, but I have thought 
and thought, and I know when it began, the 
very moment." 

" When ? " asked Hollender, hoarsely. 

The Girl's eyes wandered from his face. 
" It began at my last happy moment, the 
moment in the train when we were in the 
tunnel and you slipped back and kissed me in 
the dark." 

" What ! " whispered Hollender. He rose 
slowly to his feet and gripped the edge of the 
table with both hands. His head swam, and 
when he tried desperately to stare at the 
Girl he found that his eyes were blinded by a 
haze. There was a humming in his ears. 
Perhaps he had not heard her aright. Gradu- 
ally, word by word, he made her repeat what 
she had said ; then, scarcely knowing what 
he did, he caught up his hat and rushed from 
the room. 

He found himself in the open. There was 
a chill in the air, but he did not notice it. 
He walked at a terrific pace through the 
darkened streets. He walked for hours, 
faster and faster, as though by mere physical 
haste he were striving to catch up with some 
aching heart's desire that dodged before him, 
threatening at any moment to disappear 
for ever and leave behind an eternal void. 

What had he done ? Oh, what had he lost ? 

by C^OOgle 

As a man gazing across a bleak chasm at a 
pleasant land, he stared back through long 
ages to the life of peace and trust and com- 
munion that had once been his. 

" How monstrous," cried his fevered 
mind, " that so great a happiness should be 
so fragile ! " and something within him 
answered, " Happiness endures only within 
guarded shrines." 

Twice some fellow-pedestrian snatched him 
back from precipitating himselt before a 
shadowy bus. Finally a constable peered 
questioningly into his face, stopped him, and 
asked him if he knew where he was going. 

At the moment the question seemed almost 
natural to Hollender. He answered that of 
course he knew where he was going, and 
mentioned his own address. The officer 
hailed a passing taxi, thrust him into it, 
slammed the door, and gave the driver direc- 
tions. Five minutes later the cab drew up 
at the familiar door. Hollender realized that 
he had been walking in a circle, as though some 
loadstone had held him to its orbit. He paid 
the fare automatically, and, avoiding the lift, 
climbed slowly to his own floor, opened the 
door, and walked in. The Girl was sitting 
where he had left her, only her head was 
fallen forward between her outstretched arms. 
He coughed and shuffled his feet. She looked 
up, startled. 

A thousand things had been on his tongue 
to say, great things, strong things, born of 
vast grief and shame and utter surrender, 
but his lips, driven by subconscious curiosity, 
opened to a puerile question. 

" How did you know it was I that kissed 
you ? " he asked. 

For a moment the Girl was puzzled. She 
looked at him intently from under puckered 
brows. " How did I know ? " she repeated. 
" Why, the other two men were clean-shaven." 

Hollender sank suddenly into a chair. His 
hat dropped to the floor. His arms hung at 
his sides. He stared at the Girl as though 
he saw her for the first time in many days. 
" God," he murmured, " God, what a fool— 
what a fool I've been ! " 

The Girl stared back at him. Light began 
to dawn in her eyes, and with it a hot flush 

rose slowly to her cheeks. " You mean " 

she began. " You thought " She stopped 

again. Then a startled look, as of sudden 
discovery, lit up her face and hardened it. 
" Why," she exclaimed, " is that what has 
been the matter ? Did you think I thought 
that kiss came from one of the other men ? " 
She sat up very straight. " Did you try to 
make me think someone else was kissing me ? " 





Her arms stiffened, and she rose slowly to 
her feet. Hollender did nut answer nor 
move except to follow her with his eyes. 
There was a stricken took in his face, hut the 
Girl did not see it ; her gaze was fixed through 
and beyond him* She was trying to re-live 
the scene in the train from his point of view. 
She felt herself being put to the test ; felt 
her lips respond as to a clandestine kiss. The 
colour deepened in her cheeks, ** So you 
thought that ! 7i she breathed. 

Hollender groaned. The Girl had come 
back. She stood before him, yet infinitely 
removed. Never, at the height of his 

Vol liil-O. 

agony, had he ft It 
such a sense of 
utter loss. Where 
once he hadknown 
but love, now he 
knew adoration. 
As he gazed at her 
parted lips, h e r 
wide eyes and 
flushed cheeks, 
and at her heaving 
bosom, he felt his 
heart bow down, 
crumble, and melt 
within him. 

Her glance came 
back from far 
away and settled 
on his stricken 
face, As one slowly 
awaking, she saw 
agony, remorse, 
and worship writ- 
ten there as on a 
printed page. Her 
eyes softened and 
grew troubled, 

answered that 
look of returning 
interest with a cry. 
He flung himself at 
her feet, wrapped 
his arms around 
her knees, pressed 
his face against 
her. " Oh, Girl!" 
he sobbed. " For- 
give me t Only 
forgive me! I 
know what I've 
done, all that I 
have done. You 
can't forgive me, 
not all at once, 
but if you'll try — only try ! You mustn't 
think I haven't paid— torture — darkness and 
a lonely road. Oh, Girl f " 

For a moment her fingers ploughed ner- 
vously through his hair, then she sank to the 
floor beside him and drew his head against 
her breast, il What does it matter," she 
whispered , "if / can forgive ? You have 
forgotten love. Love forgives. Love 
laughs— — " 

Something swelled in her throat and 
choked her. She strained him closer and 
closer, so._.that he could hear her exultant 
heart leaping the barrier of spoken words, 





The Inside Story of the War. 





(Stage II. — The Bellewaarde Lines. j 

The Second Phase — Attack on the Fourth Division— Great Stand of the 
Princess Pats — Breaking of the Line — Desperate Attacks — The Cavalry 
Save the Situation — The Ordeal of the Eleventh Brigade — The German 
Failure — Terrible Strain on the British — The Last Effort of May 24th 
— Result of the Battle — Sequence of Events. 

jfT was upon the evening of May 
4th that the difficult operations 
were finished by which the lines 
of the British Army on the 
north-east of Ypreswere brought 
closer to the city. The trenches 
which faced north, including 
those which looked towards 
Pilkem and St. Julien, were hardly affected at all 
by this rearrangement. The section which was 
chiefly modified was the long curved line which 
was held from Zonnebeke southwards by the 
Twenty-seventh and Twenty-eighth Divisions. 
Instead of averaging f^v^ miles from Ypres, these 
troops were now not more than three from that 
centre, and the curve of their line was from 
Wieltje (in the north) and Frezenberg to past the 
Bellewaarde wood and lake, and so through 
Hooge and on to Hill 60. This alteration had 
the effect of flattening out an awkward salient, 
but it brought with it some very grave dis- 
advantages, for the area held in that part was 

Copyright, 1917, by 

now so limited that there was no section of it 
which was not open to the German fire from the 
east as well as from the north. The compression 
of the British forces caused them to be more 
vulnerable to artillery, while the restriction of 
the ground made it very difficult for them to 
secure good positions for their own guns. Ypres, 
too, could now be reached by even the more 
moderate German pieces, and all transport 
through the streets of the town was attended 
with very great risk. As an example, it may be 
mentioned that when the Lahore Division was 
coming up in reinforcement as already described, 
a single shell in the streets of Ypres killed or 
wounded twenty-five of the 40th Pathans. 


The second phase of this great battle, which 
began with the poisoning of Langemarck, is 
elated from the time that the British line was 
readjusted. The Germans were naturally much 
encouraged by no general a withdrawal, and it 




seemed to them that, with a further effort, they 
would be able to burst their way through and 
take possession at last of this town which faced 
them, still inviolate, after nearly eight months 
of incessant attack. Their guns, aided by their 
aeroplanes, after wasting a day in bombarding 
the empty trenches, hastened to register upon 
the new line of defences. 

During the 5th, 6th, and 7th the enemy were 
perfecting their new arrangements, but no peace 
or rest was given to that northern portion of the 
line which was still in its old trenches. The 
bombardment was turned on to this or that 
battalion in turn. On the evening of the 5th it 
was the 5th South Lancashii;es, on the right of 
the Twelfth Brigade, who were torn to pieces 
by lets of steel from the terrible hose. The 
battalion was relieved by the 2nd Monmouths, 
who beat off an attack next morning. All day 
upon the 7th the Germans were massing for an 
attack, but were held back by the steady fire 
of the French and British batteries. On the 
8 th, however, the new preparations were 
complete, and a terrible storm, destined to 
last for six unbroken days — days never to be 
forgotten by those who endured them — broke 
along the whole east, north-east, and north of 
the British line. 

It has been shown in the last chapter that 
during the long and bitter fight which had raged 
from the 22nd to the 28th of April the two 
British divisions which together formed the 
Fifth Army Corps had not only been closely 
engaged in their own trenches, but had lent 
battalions freely to the Canadians, so that they 
had at one time only a single battalion in their 
own reserve. During the period of the readjust- 
ment of the line nearly ail these troops returned, 
but they came back grievously weakened and 
wearied by the desperate struggle in which they 
had been involved. None the less, they got to 
work at once in forming and strengthening the 
new dyke which was to keep the German flood 
out of Ypres. Day and night they toiled at their 
fines, helped by working parties from the Fifth 
Division, the Northumbrian Division, and two 
field companies of sappers from the Fourth 
Division. All was ready when the German 
attack broke upon the line. The left of this 
attack was borne by the Fourth Division, the 
centre, in the Frezenberg sector, was held by 
the Twenty-eighth Division, and the right by 
the Twenty-seventh Division, who joined up 
with the Fifth Division in the south. This was 
at first almost entirely an artillery attack, and 
was of a most destructive character. Such an 
attack probably represents the fixed type of 
the future, where the guns will make an area 
of country impossible for human life, and the 
function of the infantry will simply be to move 
forward afterwards and to occupy. Along the 
whole line of the three divisions for hour 
after hour an inexhaustible rain of huge pro- 
jectile* fell with relentless precision into the 
trenches, smashing them to pieces and burying 
the occupants in the graves which they had 
prepared for themselves. It was with joy that 
the wearied troops saw the occasional head of 

an infantry assault and blew it to pieces with 
their rifles. For the greater part it was not a 
contest between men and men, but rather one 
between men and metal, in which our battalions 
were faced by a deserted and motionless land- 
scape, from which came the ceaseless downpour 
of shells and occasional drifting clouds of 


About seven o'clock the German infantry 
attack developed against that part of the line — 
the northern or left wing — which was held by the 
Fourth Division. The advance was pushed with 
great resolution and driven back with heavy 
losses, after getting within a hundred yards of 
the trenches. " Company after company came 
swinging forward steadily in one long, never- 
ending line," says an observer of the Eleventh 
Brigade, describing the attack as it appeared 
from the front of the 1st East Lancashires and 
of the 5th Rifle Brigade. " Here and there 
their attack slackened, but the check was only 
temporary. On they came again, and the sight 
was one that almost mesmerized us. They were 
near enough for us to hear the short, sharp cries 
of the officers, and the rain of bullets became more 
deadly than ever. It was simple murder/' 
The barbed wire in front of the defences was 
choked and heaped with dead and wounded men. 
This desperate German attack had more success 
farther to the south. 

At this part of the line the Germans had 
pushed through a gap and had seized the village 
of Wieltje, thus getting behind the right rear of 
the Twelfth Brigade. It was essential to regain 
the village, which was a vital point in the line. The 
1st Royal Irish, which had been attached to this 
brigade, together with two companies of the 
5th South Lancashire, were ordered to advance, 
while two reserve battalions of the 1st Irish 
Fusiliers and the 7th Argyll and Sutherlands, all 
under General Aniey, supported the attack. It 
is no light matter with an inferior artillery to 
attack a village held by German troops, but the 
assault was brilliantly successful and the village 
was regained, while the dangerous gap was 
closed in the British line. That night there was 
some desperate fighting round Wieltje, which 
occasionally got down to bayonet work. The 
1st Hants and 1st East Lancashire from the 
Eleventh Brigade had come up and helped in 
the fierce defence, which ended where it began, 
with the British fine still intact. 

Such was the fighting on May 8th in front of 
the Fourth Division. Farther down the line 
to the south the situation was more serious. A 
terrific bombardment had demolished the 
trenches of the Fifth Corps, and a very heavy 
infantry advance had followed which broke the 
line in several places. 

The weight of this attack fell upon the 
Twenty-eighth Division in front of Frezenberg, 
and very particularly upon the Eighty-third 
Brigade, which formed the unit on the right 
flank. The German rush was stemmed for a 
time by the staunch North of England regiments 

wh li^iT?fctttoj the Ist Yorks,,ire 




Light Infantry on the extreme right, and their 
neighbours of the 5th Royal Lancasters. the 
2nd Royal Lancasters, and the 2nd East York- 
shires. Great drifts of gas came over, and the 
gasping soldiers, with their hands to their 
throats and the tears running down their cheeks, 
were at the same time cut to pieces by every 
kind of shell beating upon them in an endless 
stream. Yet they made head against this 
accumulation of horrors. The East Yorkshires 
were particularly badly cut up, and the lat 
Monmouths, who were in support, endured a 
terrible and glorious baptism of fire while 
advancing in splendid fashion to their support. 
But the losses from the shell -fire had been very 
heavy, and the line was too weak to hold. The 
brigade had to fall back. The left flank of 
the Eightieth Brigade of the Twenty-seventh 
Division upon the right was consequently ex- 
posed and in the air fc A glance at the ac- 
companying diagram will show the situation 
created by the retirement of any unit. 

FR£as Ch 




The flank trench was held by the Princess 
Patricia Canadians, and their grand defence of 
it showed once more the splendid Stuff which tlie 
Dominion had sent us. Major Gault and all 
the other senior officers were killed or wounded, 
and the command devolved upon Lieutenant 
Niven, who rose greatly to the occasion. Besides 
the heavy shelling and the gas, the trenches 
were raked by machine -guns in neighbouring 
buildings. So accurate was the German artillery 
that the machine-guns of the Canadians were 
buried again and again, but were dug up and 
spat out their defiance once more. Corporal 
Dover worked one of these guns till both his 
leg and his arm had been shot away. When 
the trenches were absolutely obliterated the 
Canadians manned the communication trench 
and continued the desperate resistance. The 
4th Rifle Hrigade sent up a reinforcement and 
the fight went on Later a party of the 2nd 
Shropshires pushed their way also into the fire- 
swept trenches, bringing with them 
a welcome supply of cartridges. 
It was at this hour that the Eighty- 
third Brigade upon the right of the 
Twenty-eighth Division had to fall 
back, increasing the difficulty of 
holding the position. The enemy 
charged once more and got posses- 
sion of the trench at a point where 
all the defenders had been killed. 
There was a rush,, however, by the 
survivors in the other sections, and 
the Germans were driven out again, 
f r rom then until late at night the 
shell-fire continued t but there was 
no further infantry advance- I,ate 
that night, when relieved by the 
Rifles, the Canadian regiment, which 
had numbered nearly seven hundred 
in the mornings could only muster 
one hundred and fifty men. Having 
read the . service over their com- 
r^e^l'nwkErOlife d a i rea dy been 





b a tied by the German shells, they were led 
back oy Lieutenants Niven, Clark, Yandenburg, 
and Papineau after a day of great stress and loss, 
but of permanent glory. "No regiment could 
have fought with greater determination or 
endurance/ * said an experienced British general. 
* ' Ma ny "wo uld h a ve fa iled w h ere they s u cceeded , ' * 


It has already been described how the Eight y- 
third Brigade had been driven back by the 
extreme weight of the German advance. Their 
fellow brigade upon the left, the Eighty -fourth 
(Bowes), had a similar experience. They also 
held their line under heavy losses, and were 
finally, shortly after midday, compelled to 
retire, The flank regiment on the right, the 
1st Suffolk, were cut off and destroyed even as 
their second battalion had been at Le Cateau. 

At this time the 1st Suffolk was so reduced by 
its tosses when it had formed part of Wallace's 
detachment, as described in the last chapter.that 
there were tcw-er than three hundred men with 
the Colours. When the Germans broke through 
the left flank of the Eighty-third Brigade they 
got partly to the rear of the Suffolk trenches. 


MAY 8TH, 1915. 

The survivors of the Su ft oiks were crowded down 
the trench and mixed up with the 2nd Cheshires, 
who were their immediate neighbours. The 
parapets were wrecked, the trenches full of 
debris, the air polluted with gas, and the 
Germans pushing forward on the flank, holding 
before them the prisoners that they had just 
taken from the Eighty- third Brigade, It is 
little wonder that in these circumstances this 

most gallant battalion was overwhelmed. Cole nel 
Wallace and one hundred and thirty men were 
taken. The 2nd Northumberland Fusiliers and 
the 1 st Monmouths sustained also very heavy 
losses, as did the 12th London Hangers. The 
shattered remains of the brigade were compelled 
to fall back in conformity with the Eighty-third 
upon the right, sustaining fresh losses as they 
were swept with artillery fire on emerging frt.m 
the trenches. This was about eleven-thirty in 
the morning. The ist Monmouths upon the 
left of the line seem, however, to have kept up 
their resistance till a considerably later hour, and 
to have behaved with extraordinary gallantry. 
Outflanked and attacked in the rear after the 
Germans had taken the trenches on the right, 
they still, under their gallant Colonel Robinscn, 
persevered in what was really a hopeless resist- 
ance. The Germans trained a machine-gun upon 
them from a house which overlooked their trench, 
but nothing could shift the gallant miners who 
formed the greater part of the regiment. Colonel 
Robinson was shot dead while passing his men 
down the trench one by one in the hope of 
forming a new front. Half the officers and 
men were already on the ground. The German 
stormers were on the top of them with 
cries of " Surrender ! Surrender \ ** 
" Surrender be damned I '* shouttd 
Captain Edwards, and died still firing 
his revolver into the grey of them. It 
was a fine feat of arms, but only one 
hundred and twenty men out of seven 
hundred and fifty reassembled that 

After this severe blow battalions held 
back in reserve were formed up for a counter- 
attack, which was launched about half -past 
three, The attack advanced from the point 
where the Fourth and Twenty-eighth Divisions 
adjoined, and two regiments of the Fourth 
Division the ist Warwicks and the ->nd Dublin 
Fusiliers— together with the 2nd East Surreys. 
ist York and Lane asters, and 3rd Middlesex, 
of the Eighty-fifth Brigade, took part in it, 





pushing forwards to- 
wards the hamlet of 
Frezenberg, which 
they succeeded in 
occupying. On their 
left the 1 2th London 
Regiment (the 
Rangers) won their 
way back to the line 
which their brigade, 
the Eighty -fourth, 
had held in the 
morning, but they 
lost very heavily in 
their gallant attack. 
Two other reserve 
regiments, [the ist 
East Lanca shires, of 
the Eleventh Bri- 
gade, and the 7th 
Argyll and Suther- 
land Highlanders, of 
the Tenth, fought 
their way up as 
already mentioned 
on the extreme left 
in the neighbourhood 
of Wieltje, and 
spliced the line at 
the weak point of the 
junction of divisions. 
All these attacks 
were made against 
incessant drifts of 
poison -gas, as well 
as heavy rifle and 

shell fire. It was a day of desperate and inces- 
sant lighting, where all General Plumcrs skill 
and resolution were needed to restore and to 
hold his line. The Germans claimed to have 
taken five hundred prisoners, mostly of the 
Eighty- fourth Brigade, 


The net result of the fighting upon May 8th 
was that the area held in the north-east of Ypres 
was further diminished. Early upon the oth 
the Germans, encouraged by their partial 
success, continued their attack, still relying 
upon their massive artillery, which far exceeded 
anything which the British could put against 
it. The attack on this morning came down the 
Menin road, and the trenches on either side of 
it were heavily bombarded. At ten o'clork 
there was an infantry advance upon the line of 
the Eighty-first Brigade, which was driven l>ack 
by the 2nd Cameron Highlanders and the 2nd 
Gloucestcrs. The shell -fire was continued upon 
the same line until ^ p.m., when the trench was 
obliterated, and a second advance of the German 
infantry got possession of it. A counter-attnc k 
of the Gloucesters was held up with considerable 
loss, the advance of the regiment through the 
wood b^ing greatly impeded by the number of 
trees cut down by shells and forming abattis 
in every direction, like the windfalls of a 
Canadian forest. This trench was the only 
capture made by the Germans during the 


day, and it did not materially weaken the 

These attacks along the line of the Menin 
mad and to the north of Lake Bellcwaarde were 
all directed upon the Twenty-seventh Division, 
but the Twenty-eighth Division immediately to 
the north, which had been defending the sector 
which runs through Frezenberg and Wteltje, 
had also been most violently shelled t but had 
held its line, as had the Fourth Division to the 
north. All these divisions had considerable 
losses, The general result was a further slight 
contraction of the British line. It could not 
be broken, and it could not be driven in upon 
Vprcs, but the desperate and (apart from the 
Kas outrages) valorous onslaughts of the Germans, 
aided by their overpowering artillery, gained 
continually an angle here and a corner there, 
with the result that the British position was 
being gradually whittled away. 

On the 10th the Germans again attacked 
upon the line of the Menin road, blasting a 
passage with their artillery, but meeting with 
a most determined resistance, The weight of 
their advance fell chiefly upon the Eightieth 
Brigade to the north of the road, the 4th Rifie 
Brigade and the 4th Rifles bearing the brunt of 
it and suffering very severely, though the 2nd 
Camerons and yth Royal Scots, of the Eighty- 
first Brigade, were also hard hit. So savage 
had been thOjh/j^^^RSffit, and so thick the 
gas, thM ^^ a?) j 51 ( i ^ Rf ^ g ht that they 




could safely advance, but the regiments named, 
together with the 3rd Battalion of Rifles, 
drove them back with heavy loss. It was always 
a moment of joy for the British infantry when 
for a brief space they were faced by men rather 
than machines. The pitiless bombardment 
continued ; the garrison of the trenches was 
mostly killed or buried, and the survivors fell 
back on to the support trenches west of the 
wood. This defence of the Riflemen was as 
desperate a business as that of the Canadians 
upon the 8th. Several of the platoons remained 
in the shattered trenches until the Germans had 
almost surrounded them, and finally shot and 
stabbed a path for themselves till they could 
rejoin their comrades, It was on this day that 
the gth ArgylL and Sutherland Highlanders 
suffered heavy losses, including their splendid 
Colonel James Clark. 

On May 1 ith the attack was still very vigorous. 
The Twenty-seventh Division was strongly 
pressed in the morning.' The Eightieth Brigade 
was to the north and somewhat to the west of 
the Eighty-first, which caused the latter to form 
a salient. With their usual quickness in ticking 
advantage of such things, the (Germans instantly 
directed their fire upon this point. After 
several hours of heavy shelling, an infantry 
attick about ri a.m. got into the trenches, but 
was driven out again by the rush of the oth 
Royal Scots- The bombardment was then 
renewed, and the attack was more successful at 

4 p.m. — an almost 
exact repetition of 
the events upon the 
day be fore, save that 
the stress fell upon 
the Eighty-first in- 
stead of the Eightieth 
Brigade, D u ri ng t he 
night the Lei listers 
of the Eighty-second 
Brigade drove the 
Germans out again, 
but found that the 
trench was untenable 
on account of the 
shell -fire. It was 
abandoned, there- 
fore, and the line 
was drawn back into 
the better cover 
afforded by a wood, 




By this date many 
of the defending 
troops had betn 
fighting with hardly 
a break from April 
2 2nd- It was an 
ordeal which had 
lasted by day and by 
night, and had only 
been interrupted by 
the labour of com- 
pleting the new lines. The losses had been 
very heavy, and reinforcements were most 
urgently needed. At the same time it was 
impossible to take any troops from the 
northern sector, which was already hardly 
strong enough to hold a violent German attack. 
In the south the Army had, as will be shown, 
become involved in the very serious and expen- 
sive operations which began at Kichebourg on 
May 9th. In these difficult circumstances it 
was to the never-failing cavalry that General 
Plurner had to turn. It is sinful extravagance 
to expend these highly- trained horsemen, who 
cannot be afterwards improvised, on work that 
is not their own, but there have been many 
times in this war when it was absolutely inces- 
sary that the last man. be he who he might, 
should be put forward* So it was now, and the 
First and Third Cavalry Divisions, under 
General de Lisle, were put into the firing line 
to the north of Lake Belle waarde, taking the 
place of the Twenty-eighth Division, which at 
that time had hardly a senior regimental nicer 
left standing. The First Cavalry Division took 
the line from Wieltje to Yerlorenhcek, while the 
Third carried it on to Hooge, where it touched 
the Twenty-seventh Division. Their presence 
in the front firing line was a sign of British 
weakness, but, on the other hand, it was certain 
that the Germans had lost enormously, that they 
were becoming exhausted, and that they were 

lik !fMr'f , ER?fTTOT Et MfeHI^.W of tbHr CB " 



before they broke 
the line of the de- 
fence. A few more 
days would save the 
situation, and it was 
hoped that the in- 
clusion of the cavalry 
would win them, 

They took over 
the lines just in time 
to meet the brunt 
of what may have 
been the most severe 
attack of all. The 
shelling upon May 
13th can only be 
described as terrific. 
The Germans ap- 
peared to have an 
inexhaustible supply 
of munitions, and 
from morning to 
night they blew to 
pieces the trenches 
in front and the 
shelters behind 
which might screen 
the supports* 

It was a day of 
weather, and the 
howling w r ind, the 
driving rain, and 
the pitiless fire made 
a Dantesque night- 
mare of the combat. 
The attack on the 

right fell upon the Third Cavalry Di vision. 
This force had been reorganized since the days 
in October when it had done so splendidly 
with the Seventh Infantry Division in the 
lighting before Ypres. It consisted now of 
the Sixth Brigade (1st Royals, 3rd Dragoon 
Guards, North Somerset Yeomanry), the Seventh 
Brigade (1st and 2nd Life Guards and Leicester- 
shire Yeomanry), and the Eighth Brigade (Blues, 
10th Hussars, and Essex Yeomanry). This 
Division was exposed all morning to a perfectly 
hellish fire, which was especially murderous to 
the north of the Ypres Roulers road- At this 
point the 1st Royals, 3rd Dragoon Guards, and 
Somerset Yeomanry were stationed, and were 
blown, with their trenches, into the air by a 
bombardment which continued for fourteen 
hours, A single sentence may be extracted 
from the report of the Commander-in-Chief 
which the Somersets should have printed in 
gold round the walls of their headquarters. 
1 The North Somerset Yeomanry on the right 
of the brigade," says the General, " although also 
suffering severely, hung on to their trenches 
throughout the day and actually advanced and 
attacked the enemy with the bayonet/' The 
Royals came up in support, but the brigade, 
after terrible losses, was compelled to fall back 
nearly half a mile- The Seventh Brigade upon 
the right was also driven back, but was rallied 
by the Eighth in support, On the right the 



flank of the Twenty-seventh Division had been 
exposed by the retirement of the cavalry, but 
the 2nd Irish Fusiliers were echeloned back so as 
to cover it. So with desperate devices a sagging 
line was still drawn between Ypres and the 
eve repressing invaders The strain was heavy, 
not only upon the cavalry, but upon the Twenty- 
seventh Division to the south of them. There 
was a time when the pressure upon the 4th Rifle 
Brigade, a regiment which had endured enormous 
Josses, was so great that help was urgently needed. 
The Princess Patricia's had been taken out of 
the line, as only one hundred men remained effec- 
tive, and the 4th Rifles were in hardly a better 
position, but the two maimed regiments were 
formed into one composite battalion, which 
pushed up with a good heart into the fighting 
line and took the place of the 3rd Rifles, who in 
turn relieved the exhausted Rifle Brigade. 

On the left of the cavalry line, where the 
First Cavalry Division joined on to the Fourth 
Infantry Division, near Wieltje, the artillery 
storm had burst also with appalling violence. 
The 1 8th Hussars lost one hundred and fi/ty 
men out of their already scanty ranks* The 
Essex Regiment on their left helped them to fill 
the flap until the 4th Dragoon Guards came up 
in support. This fine regiment and their 
comrades of the 9th Laneers were tieaviiy 
punished. butrJ^r^Jiill^rtthTprim stoicism. To 
their ^fofa^ft^rfofgflteSnJd splendidly. 




though all of them, and especially the Bays, 
were terribly knocked about. In the afternoon 
the 5th Dragoon Guards were momentarily 
driven in by the blasts of shell, but the nth 
Hussars held the line firm. 


The situation as the day wore on became 
somewhat more reassuring. The British line 
had been badly dented in the middle, where the 
Cavalry had been driven back or annihilated, 
but it held firm at each end. South of the 
Menin road the Twenty-seventh Division, 
much exhausted, were still holding on, officers 
and men praying in their weary souls that the 
enemy might be more weary still. These 
buttressed the right of the line, while three 
miles to the north the Fourth Division, equally 
worn and ragged, was holding the left. The 
Tenth Brigade had sustained such losses in the 
gns battle that it was held, as far as possible, 
in reserve, but the Eleventh and Twelfth were 
hard pressed during the long, bitter day, during 
which they were choked by gas, lashed with 
artillery fire, and attacked time after time by 
columns of infantry. The Eleventh Brigade in 
that dark hour showed in a supreme degree the 
historic qualities of British infantry^ their 
courage hardening as the times grew worse* 
The 1st East Lancashire* had their trenches 

destroyed, lost Major 
Rutter and many 
of their officers, but 
still, under their 
gallant Colonel 
Lawrence, held on to 
their shattered lines. 
Every point gained 
by the stubborn 
Germans was 
wrenched from them 
again by men more 
stubborn still. They 
carried a farmhouse 
near Wieltje, but 
were turned out 
again by the in- 
domitable East 
Laneashires after 
desperate fighting at 
close quarters. It is 
said to have been the 
fourth time that this 
battalion mended a 
broken line. Severe 
attacks were made 
upon the trenches 
of the 1 st Hamp- 
shires and the 5th 
London Rifle Bri- 
gade, but in each 
case the defenders 
held their line, the 
latter Territorial 
battalion being left 
with fewer than two 
hundred men. It 
was in this action that Sergeant Belcher, of 
the London Rifle Brigade, with eight of his 
Territorials and two Hussars, held a vital 
position against the full force of a German 
infantry attack, losing half their little band, 
but saving the whole line from being enfiladed. 
The Twelfth Brigade had been drawn back into 
reserve, but it was not a day for rest, and the 
2nd Essex was hurried forward to the relief of 
the extreme left of the cavalry, where their 
line abutted upon the Fou-rth Division. The 
regiment made a very fine counter-attack under 
a hail of shells, recovering some trenches and 
clearing the Germans out of a farmhouse, which 
they subsequently held against all assailants. 
This attack was ordered on the instant, upon 
his own responsibility, by Colonel Jones, o£ the 
Essex, and was carried out so swiftly that the 
enemy had no time to consolidate his new 

Whilst each buttress held firm a gallant 
attempt was made in the afternoon to straighten 
out the line in the centre where the Third 
Cavalry Division had been pushed back, The 
Eighth Brigade of Cavalry, under Bulkeley- 
Johnson, pushed forward on foot and won their 
way to the original line of trenches, chasing the 
Germans out of them and making many prisoners, 
but they found it impossible to hoi d 1 hem wit Ik nt 
supports und^t the .ln;.ivy shell -fire + They fell 
back, Lffifp^R^fTP^ ftrWfctfH im * u lar >** 




behind the trenches, partly in broken ground and 
partly in the craters of explosions. This they 
held for the rest of the day. 


Thus ended a truly desperate conflict. The 
Germans had failed in this, which proved to be 
their final and supreme effort to break the line. 
On the other hand, the advance to the north of 
the Bellewaarde Lak? necessitated a further 
spreading and weaksning of the other forces, 
so that it may truly be said that the prospects 
never looked worse than at the very moment 
when the Germans had spent their strength and 
could do no more. From May 14th the fighting 
died down, and for some time the harassed and 
exhausted defenders were allowed to re-form and 
to recuperate. The Eightieth Prigade, which 
had suffered very heavily, was drawn out upon 
the 17th, the Second Cavalry Division, under 
Kavanagh, taking its place. Next day the 
Eighty-first Brigade, and on the 22nd of May 
the Eighty-second, were also drawn back to the 
west of Ypres, their place being taken by fresh 
troops. The various units of the Twenty- 
eighth Division were also rested for a time. 
For the gunners and sappers there was no rest, 
however, but incessant labour against over- 
mastering force. 

The second phase of this new Battle of Ypres 
may be said to have lasted from May 4th to 
May 14th. It consisted of a violent German 
attack, pushed chiefly by poison and by artillery, 
against the Twenty-seventh and Twenty-eighth 
Divisions of the Fifth British Corps and the 
Fourth Division to the north of them. Its aim 
was, as ever, the capture of Ypres. In this aim 
it failed, nor did it from first to last occupy any 
village or post which gave it any return for its 
exertions. It inflicted upon the British a loss 
of from twelve thousand to fifteen thousand 
men, but endured itself at the very least an equal 
slaughter without any compensating advantage. 
The whole operation can only hi described, there- 
fore, as being a costly failure. Throughout these 
operations the British infantry were provided 
with respirators soaked in alkalis, while many 
wore specially-constructed helmets to save them 
from being poisoned. To such grotesque ex- 
pedients had Germany brought the warfare of 
the twentieth century. 


There is no doubt that the three British 
regular divisions and the cavalry were worn to 
a shadow at the end of these operations. Since 
the enemy ceased to attack, it is to be presumed 
that they were in no better case. The British 
infantry had been fighting almost day and 
night for three weeks, under the most desperate 
conditions. Their superiority to the infantry 
of the Germans was incontestable, but there was 
no comparison at all between the number of 
heavy guns available, which were at least six 
to one in favour of the enemy. Shells were 
p >ured down with a profusion, and also with an 
accuracy, never before seen in warfare, and 
though the British infantry continually regained 

trenches which had been occupied by the German 
infantry, it was only to be shelled out of them 
again by a fire against which they could make 
no adequate answer. An aerial observer has 
described that plain simply flaming and smoking 
from end to end with the incessant beat of the 
shells, and has expressed his wonder that human 
life should have been possible under such a fire. 
And yet the road to Ypres was ever barred. 

All the infantry losses, heavy as they were, are 
eclipsed by those of the Third Cavalry Division , 
which bore the full blast of the final whirlwind, 
and was practically destroyed in holding it 
back from Ypres. This splendid division, to 
whom, from first to last, the country owes as 
much as to any body of troops in the field, was 
only engaged in the fighting for one clear day, 
and yet lost nearly as heavily in proportion as 
either of the infantry divisions which had been 
in the firing line for a week. Their casualties 
were ninety-one officers and one thousand and 
fifty men. This will give some idea of the con- 
centrated force of the storm which broke upon 
them on May 13th. It was a most murderous 
affair, and they were only driven from their 
trenches when the trenches themselves had been 
blasted to pieces. It is doubtful whether any 
regiments have endured more in so short a time. 
These three brigades were formed of. corps 
d'SHtes, and they showed that day that the blue 
blood of the land was not yet losing its iron. 
The casualty lists in this and the succeeding 
action of the 24th read like a society function. 
Colonel Ferguson, of the Blues, Colonel the Hon. 
Evans- Freke, Lord Chesham, the Hon. Captain 
Grenfell, Lord Leveson-Gower, Sir Robert Sutton, 
Lord Compton, the Hon. Major Mitford, the Hon. 
C. E. A. Phillips, Viscount Wendover — so runs 
the sombre and yet glorious list. The sternest 
of Radicals may well admit that the aristocrats 
of Britain have counted their lives cheap when 
the enemy was at the gate. Colonel Smith- 
Bingham, of the 3rd Dragoon Guards, Colonel 
Steele, of the 1st Royals, Colonel Freke, of the 
Leicestershire Yeomanry, and many other senior 
officers were among the dead. The Leicester 
Yeomanry suffered very severely, but their 
comrades of Essex and of Somerset, the Blues 
and the 1st Royals, were also hard hit. The 
losses of the First Cavalry Division were not so 
desperately heavy as those of the Third, but were 
none the less very serious, amounting to fifty- 
four officers and six hundred and fifty men. 

It is possible that the German attack desisted 
because the infantry were exhausted, but more 
probable that the great head of shells accumulated 
had been brought down to a minimum level, and 
that the gas cylinders were empty. For ten 
days, while the British strengthened their 
battered line, there was a lull in the fighting. 


There was no change, however, in the German 
plan of campaign, and the fight which broke 
out again upon May 24th may be taken as the 
continuation of the battle which had died down 
upon the 14th, Fresh reservoirs of poison had 

Wn tfA^fff^kFlrGW he morning in 



the first light of dawn the infernal stuff was 
drifting down wind in a solid bank some three 
miles in length and forty feet in depth, bleaching 
the grass, blighting the trees, and leaving a 
broad scar of destruction behind it. A roaring 
torrent of shells came pouring into the trenches 
at the instant that the men, hastily aroused from 
sleep, were desperately fumbling in the darkness 
to find their respirators and shield their lungs 
from the strangling poison. The front of this 
attack was from a farm called " Shell-trap," 
between the Poelcapelle and Langemarck roads 
on the north, to Belle waarde Lake on the south. 
The surprise of the poison in that weird hour was 
very effective, and it was immediately followed 
by a terrific and accurate bombardment, which 
brought showers of asphyxiating shells into the 
trenches. The main 
force of the chlorine 
seems to have struck 
the extreme right of 
the Fourth Division 
and the whole front 
of the Twenty-eighth 
Division, but the 
Twenty-seventh and 
the cavalry were also 

Anley's Twelfth 
Brigade was on the 
left of the British 
line, with Hull's 
Tenth Brigade upon 
its right, the 
Eteventh being in 
reserve. On the 
Twelfth and Tenth 
fell the full impact 
of the attack. The 
Twelfth, though 
badly mauled, stood 
like a rock and blew 
back the Germans 
as they tried to 
follow up the gas. 
" They doubled out 
of their trenches to 
follow it up half an 

hour after the emission, " wrote an officer of the 
Essex. " They were simply shot back into them 
by a blaze of fire. They bolted back like rabbits/' 
All day the left and centre of the Twelfth 
Brigade held firm. The Royal Irish upon the 
right were less fortunate. The pressure both 
of the gas and the shells fell very severely upon 
them, and the few survivors were at last driven 
from their trenches, some hundreds of yards being 
lost, including the Shell -trap Farm. The Dublin 
Fusiliers, in the exposed flank of the Tenth 
Brigade, were also very hard hit. Of these two 
gallant Irish regiments only a handful remained, 
and the Colonels of each, Moriarty and Loveband, 
fell with their men. Several of the regiments 
of the Tenth Brigade suffered severely, and the 
7th Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders were 
left with only a single officer, Captain Scott, 

This misfortune upon the right left the rest 

of the Twelfth Brigade in a most perilous position, 
attacked on the front, the flank, and the right 
rear. No soldiers could be subjected to a more 
desperate test. The flank battalion was the 
1st Royal I^ancasters (Colonel Jackson), who 
lived up to the very highest traditions of the 
British Army. Sick and giddy with the gas, 
and fired into from three sides, they still stuck 
doggedly to their trenches. The Essex battalion 
stood manfully beside them, and these two fine 
regiments, together with the East Lancashires 
and Rifle Brigade, held their places all day 
and even made occasional aggressive efforts to 
counter-attack. At eight in the evening they 
were ordered to form a new line with the Tenth 
Brigade, five hundred yards in the rear. They 
came back in perfect order, carrying their 


wounded with them. Up to this moment the 
Fourth Division had held exactly the same line 
which they had occupied from May 1st. 

To return to the events of the morning. The 
next unit from the north was the Eighty-fifth 
Brigade (Chapman), which formed the left 
flank of the Twenty-eighth Division. Upon it 
also the gas descended with devastating effect. 
There was just enough breeze to drift it along 
and not enough to disperse it. The 2nd East 
Surrey, the flank battalion, held on heroically, 
poison-proof and heedless of the shells. Next 
to them, just south of the railway, the 3rd Royal 
Fusiliers were so heavily gassed that the great 
.majority of the men were absolutely incapaci- 
tated. The few who could use a rifle held on 
with desperate valour while two companies 
of the Buffs were sent up to help them, and 
another company of the same regiment was 
dispatche4crtQi^-C|^ the 9th 




Lancers and 18th Hussars of the Second Cavalry 
Brigade were very hard pressed* On the left 
of the cavalry, between Hoogc and Bellewaarde, 
was the Durham Territorial Brigade, which 
was pushed forward and had its share of the gas 
and of the attack generally, though less hard 
pressed than the divisions of regular troops upon 
their left. The Durham Territorial Artillery 
did excellent work in supporting the cavalry, 
though they were handicapped by their weapons, 
which were the ancient fifteen-pounders of the 
South African type. These various movements 
were all in the early morning under the stress 
of the first attack, The pressure continued to 
b^ very severe on the line of the Royal Fusiliers 
and Buffs, who were covering the ground between 
the railway line on the north and Bellewaarde 
Lake on the south, so the remaining company 
of the Buffs was thrown into the fight. At the 
same time, the 3rd Middlesex, with part of the 
6th and 8th Durham light Infantry, advanced 
to the north of the railway line* The German 
pressure still increased, however, and at midday 
the Buffs and Fusiliers, having lost nearly all 
their officers and a large proportion of their 
ranks, fell back into the wood to the south of 
the railway, 

A determined attempt was at once made to 
recapture the line of trenches from which they 
had been forced. The Eighty- fourth Brigade 
(Bowes), which had been in reserve was ordered 
to move along the south of the line, while the 
whole artillery of the Fifth Corps supported the 
advance. Meanwhile, the Eightieth Brigade 
(Fortescue) was pushed forward on the right of 
the Eighty- fourth, with orders to advance upon 
flt^L 1 and restore the situation there. It was 
evening before all arrangements were completed, 
About seven o'clock the Eighty^fourth advanced 
with the 2nd Cheshires upon the left and the 
2nd Northumberland Fusiliers upon the right, 
supp >rtcd by the 1st Wel*h, the Monmouths, 
and the feeble remains of the rst Su ft oiks. 

Darkness had fallen before the lines came into 
contact, and a long and obstinate fight followed, 
which swayed back and forwards under the light 
of flares and the sudden red glare of bursting 
shells. So murderous was the engagement 
that the Eighty-fourth Brigade came out of it 
without a senior officer left standing out of six 
battalions, and with a loss of seventy-five per 
cent, of the numbers with which it began. The 
machine-gun fire of the Germans was extremely 
intense and was responsible for most of the heavy 
losses. At one time men of the Welsh, the 
S uft oiks, and the Northumberland Fusiliers 
were actually in the German trenches, but at 
dawn they were compelled to retire, Late in 
the evening the Third and Fourth Brigades of 
Cavalry were pushed into the trenches on the 
extreme rightofthe British position, near Hooge, 
to relieve the First and Second Brigades, who had 
sustained heavy losses for the second time within 
ten days. 

The general result of the attack of May 24th 
was that this, the most profuse emission of 
poison, had no more solid effect than the other 
recent ones, since the troops had learned how to 
meet it. The result seems to have convinced 
the Germans that this filthy ally which they had 
called in wis not destined to serve them to any 
good purpose, for from this day onwards there 
was no further attempt to use tt upon a large 
scale in this quarter. In this action, which may 
be known in history as the Battle of Bellewaarde, 
since it centred round the lake of that name, the 
British endured a loss of same, thousands of men 
killed, wounded, or poisoned, but their line, 
though forced back at several points, was as 
firm as ever. The struggle ended in the usual 
futile stalemate of trenches, but it marked one 
more stage in that process of attrition which 
must in the long run leave an exhausted victor 
standing over a helpless enemy* 

In all this fighting which forms the second 
half of this great bat tie one is so absorbed by 





the desperate efforts of regimental officers and 
men to hold on to their trenches that one is 
inclined to do less than justice to the leaders who 
bore the strain day after day of that uphill 
fight, Plumer, of the Second Army ; Fer- 
guson, of the Fifth Army Corps ; Wilson, Snow, 
and Bulnn, of the Fourth, Twenty -seventh, and 
Twenty -eighth Divisions — these were the men 
who held the line in those weeks of deadly 

On May 25th the line was consolidated and 
straightened out T joining the French at the 
same point as before and passing through 
Wicltje, and so past the west end of Lake Belle* 
waarde to Hoogc* At this latter village there 
broke out between May 31st and June 3rd what 
may be regarded as an aftermath of the battle 
which has just been described. The chateau 
at this place, now a shattered ruin, was the same 
building in which General Lomax was wounded 
and General Munro struck senseless in that 
desperate fight on October 31st* Such was the 
equilibrium of the two f?rcat forces that here in 
May the fight was still raging. Chateau and 
village were attacked very strongly by the 
German artillery, and later by the German 
infantry, between May 30th and June 3rd, but 
no impression was made. The post was held by 
the survivors of the 3rd Dragoon Guards, and 
the action, though a local one, was as fine an 
exhibition of tenacious courage as has been seen 
in the war. The building was destroyed, so 
to a large extent was the regiment, but the post 
remained with the British* 


Such is a brief outline of the series of events 
which make up the second phase of that battle 
which, beginning in the north of the Allied lines 
upon April 22nd, was continued upon the north- 
eastern salient, and ended as shown at Hoogc 
at the end of May. In this fighting at least 
one hundred thousand men of the three nations 

were killed or wounded. The advantage with 
which the Germans began was to some extent 
neutralized before the end, for our gallant Allies 
had never rested during this time, and had been, 
gradually re-establishing their position, clearing 
the west of the canal, recapturing Steenstraate 
and Hct Sas, and only stopping short of Pilkem. 
On the other hand, the British had been com- 
pelled to draw in for two miles, and Ypres had 
become more vulnerable to the guns of the 
enemy. If any advantage could be claimed the 
balance lay certainly with the Germans, but as 
part of a campaign of attrition nothing could he 
devised which would be more helpful to the 
Allies. The whole of these operations may be 
included under the general title of the second 
Battle of Ypres, but they can be divided into 
two clearly separated episodes, the first lasting 
from x^pril 2 2nd to the end of the month, which 
may be called the Poisoning of Langemarck, 
and the second from May 4th to the 24th. with 
a long interval in the centre, which may be 
known as the Battle of Bellewaarde, since the 
Bellewaarde lines were the centre of the most 
severe fighting. In this hard-fought war it 
would be difficult to say that any action was 
more hard -fought than this, and it will remain 
for centuries to come in the glorious traditions 
of the Canadian Division, who first showed that 
a brave heart may rise superior to bursting 
hin^s. These were the greatest of all, but they 
had worthy comrades in the Indians, who at 
the end of an exhausting march hurled them- 
selves into so diabolical a battle; the North- 
umberland Division, so lately civilians to a 
man, and now fighting like veterans; the 
Thirteenth Brigade, staggering from their 
exertions at Hill 60, and yet called on for this 
new effort ; the glorious cavalry, who saved the 
situation at the last moment : and the much- 
enduring Fourth. Twenty-seventh, and Twenty- 
Eighth Divisions of the line, who bore the 

buffet i?^iv fel fro f ?.t Cffffe*. N German ** 



Their dead lie at peace on Ypres plain, but shame 
on England if ever she forgets what she owes to 
those who lived, for they and their comrades of 
19 1 4 have made that name a symbol of glory 
for ever. 


It may help the reader's comprehension of 
the sequence of events, and of the desperate 
nature of this second Battle of Ypres, if a short 
risumi be here given of the happenings upon 
the various dates. A single day of this contest 
would have appeared to be a considerable ordeal 
to any troops. It is difficult to realize the 
cumulative effect when such blows fell day 
after day and week after week upon the same 
body of men. The more one considers this 
action the more remarkable do the facts appear. 

April 22nd. — Furious attack upon the French 
and Canadians. Germans gain several miles of 
ground, eight batteries of French guns, and 
four heavy British guns by the use of poison- 
gas. The Canadians stand firm. 

April 2yrd. — Canadians hold the line. Furious 
fighting. French begin to re-form. Reserves 
from the Twenty-seventh and Twenty-eighth 
British Divisions, Thirteenth Brigade, and 
cavalry buttress up the line. 

April 24/A. — Desperate fighting. Line pushed 
farther back and Germans took about a thousand 
prisoners. Line never broken. 

April 25/A.— Battle at its height. North- 
umberland Territorial Division come into the 
fight. Tenth Regular Brigade comes up. 
Canadians drawn out. The French advancing. 

April 26th. — Eleventh Regular Brigade thrown 
into the fight. Also the Lahore Division of 
Indians. Trenches of Twenty-eighth Division 
attacked. The battle swings and sways. 

April 27th. — The French make some advance 
on the left. There is equilibrium on the rest of 
the line. Hard fighting everywhere. 

April 28M. — The enemy still held, and his 
attack exhausted for the moment. French 
making some progress. 

May 1st. — British Twelfth Brigade comes into 

May 2nd. — Renewed German assault on French 
and British, chiefly by gas. Advance was held 
back with difficulty by the Fourth Division. 

May yd and 4/A. — Contraction of the British 
position, effected without fighting, but involving 
the abandonment of two miles of ground at the 
north-eastern salient. 

May 5/A. — German attack upon FcurUi 

May 6th. — Attack still continued. 

May jth. — Artillery preparation fcr general 
German attack. 

May 8th. — Furious attack upon Fourth, 
Twenty-eighth, and Twenty-seventh British 
Divisions. Desperate fighting and heavy losses. 
The British repulse the attack on their left wing 
(Fourth Division), but sustain heavy loss on 
centre and right. Eighty-fourth Brigade broken. 

May gth. — Very severe battle continued. 
British left holds its ground, but right and 
centre tend to contract. 

May 10th — Fighting of a desperate character, 
falling especially upon the Twenty-seventh 

May nth. — Again very severe fighting fell 
upon the Twenty-seventh Division on the right 
of the British line. Losses were heavy, and again 
there was a slight contraction. 

May 1 2th. — Readjustment of British line. 
Two divisions of cavalry put in place of Twenty - 
eighth Division. 

May 13/A. — Furious artillery attack, followed 
by infantry advance. Cavalry and Twenty- 
seventh Division terribly punished. Very heavy 
losses, but the line held. Fourth Division 
fiercely engaged and holding its line. 

May 14/A. — The Germans exhausted. The 
attack ceases. Ten days of* mutual recupera- 

May 24th. — Enormous gas attack. Fourth 
Division on left had full force of it, lost heavily, 
but could not be shifted. In the evening hed 
to retire five hundred yards for the first time 
since the fighting began. General result of a 
long day of furious fighting was some contrac- 
tion of the British line along its whole length, 
but no gap for the passage of the enemy. Thi<> 
may be looked upon as a last despairing effort 
of the Germans, as no serious attempt was after- 
wards made to force the road to Ypres. 

Such, in a condensed form, was the record c<f 
the second Battle of Ypres, which for obstinacy 
in attack anel inflexibility in defence can only 
be compared with the first battle in the same 
section six months before. Taking these two 
great battles together, their result may be 
summed up in the words that the Germans, 
with an enormous preponderance of men in the 
first and of guns in the second, had expended 
several hundred thousand of their men with 
absolutely no military advantage whatever. 

(To be continued ) 

by Google 

Original from 



Illustrated by 

Reg, R SmitL 

was not enjoying 
himself, though he 
was welt aware 
that he was ex- 
pected to do so. He was 
walking on a country road in 
Staten Island in the company 
of a young woman. He did 
not care for Staten Island ; 
also he did not care for the 
young woman , and this was 
the more unfortunate because 
he was engaged to be 
married to her. He turned 
his discontented gaze from 
the imminent trees to survey 
his companion j and his dis- 
satisfaction deepened. How 
could a girl look so drab and 
dowdy? he asked himself in 
despair. How ugly hair looked when it was 
scraped back like that ! How tiresome her 
habitual silence was, and yet her infrequent 
remarks were rarely interesting and never 
diverting. What a business ! 

Gilbert did not ask himself why, if he found 
the young woman so unattractive, he had 
asked her to marry him, because he knew 
the answer to that question only too well. 
Had he not an aunt, Miss Amabel Frayne ? 
Had she not a large fortune ? Had he not 
leonine expectations when Miss Amabel should 
cease to be ? Had not Miss Amabel seen fit 
to adopt a young kinswoman thrown upon 
the world ? And, finally, had not Miss 
Amabel made it very plain to Gillie that if 
he wished his leonine expectations to be- 
come leonine realities there was nothing for 
him but tu marry the adopted ? 

Now Gillie had no pulsing inclination to 
matrimony, and least of all did he wish to 
marry the adopted, of whom he thought very 
poorly, But Gillie had no absorbing love affair 
on hand to make the thought of marriage 
impossible, and Gillie was very anxious indeed 
to be leoninely remembered in Miss Amabel's 

will. Those comforts and graces which he 
considered indispensable to his existence 
depended largely upon the addition which 
his aunt's allowance made to his own modest 
patrimony, and depended in the future upon 
her testamentary dispositions. Wherefore, 
when Aunt Amabel had told him that it was 
her wish that he should propose to Mary 
Fyshe, Gillie very promptly proposed to Mary 
Fyshe. lie did not hope that Mary Fyshe 
would refuse him \ he was quite aware of his 
own attractions. On the contrary, he very 
much hoped that she would accept him, for 
he was uneasily aware that a rejection might 
suggest to his aunt a lack of ardour in his 
wooing, and bring its punishment hereafter. 

Mary Fyshe accepted him with an almost 
passionate alacrity, and now they were walk- 
ing side by side on the country road, and 
Gillie was thinking what a homely human 
being Mary Fyshe was, and Mary Fyshe was 
thinking very different thoughts about Gilbert 

Silence had brooded for some time over the 
loitering pair. Gillie was thinking how jolly 
it would be.tbqflfld himself in the card-room 




of the Iroquois Club, facing something spark- 
ling in a large glass, and a hand that justified 
a " Nullo " call. Mary was thinking that Miss 
Amabel could never have been really young, 
or she would not make poor Mary's young 
womanhood show so mean and skimpy. 

u I had a letter from my sister this morning," 
Mary said, suddenly, when the moment 
arrived in which it seemed to her that she 
must say something or else remain dumb 
for ever. Gillie languidly affected a polite 

" Your sister," he said, and said it in such 
a way as made it plain that he was only very 
vaguely aware that Mary had a sister. 

" Yes," continued Mary. Having started 
the subject, she was' desperately resolved to 
continue it, if only to keep up an appearance 
of communion between them. " My sister 
who lives in New Orleans — my twin sister." 

" Funny thing your having a twin sister," 
Gillie observed, thoughtfully. " I didn't know 
that people really had twin sisters outside 
melodrama, where the leading lady wants to 
play both parts." 

" Yes," replied Mary ; " the Galvins adopted 
her at the same time that Miss Frayne adopted 

She sighed as she spoke, for she knew that 
her sister had a better time with the Galvins 
than she had with Miss Frayne. Miss Frayne 
had much kindness in her, but it was so con- 
trolled by an old-fashioned Puritanism that 
the girl sometimes found it hard to discover. 
Since she came under Miss Amabel's care she 
had been brought up on the " seen and not 
heard " principle, was never allowed to wear 
any becoming clothes, was carried to church 
three times every Sunday, and quite lately 
had been sent to her room for a day because 
a copy of a fashion paper had been found in 
her possession. It was Miss Frayne's idea of 
the fitting education for a young; person, and 
it had the definite result of making Mary look 
quite unattractive and feel very unhappy. 

Gillie heard the girl's little sigh without 
hearing it, at least without heeding it. He 
was longing to be back in New York, and he 
found his duty to be attentive to Mary Fyshe 
harder to fulfil than usual. 

He did not trouble himself very much to 
consider how the situation affected Mary. He 
assumed that she held herself fortunate in 
being affianced to so fine a fellow as himself, 
and the assumption was justified. To Mary 
Fyshe the young man did indeed seem a very 
fine fellow. His infrequent visits — as in- 
frequent as he dared to make them — brought 
with them sounds and visions as of another 

Digitized by CjOOQ I C 

world, where women wore pretty clothes; and 
went to theatres and restaurants, and tasted 
all the dainty innocent delights that go to the 
making of a "good time." But also they 
brought with them more disquieting, more 
displeasing sensations; quickened conscious- 
ness of his indifference, so politely veiled ; 
of her own miserable inferiority to the stan- 
dard of the right wife for Gilbert Frayne. 
Thus she was always at a disadvantage, 
wretchedly nervous, tongue-tied; even gawky. 

Gilbert felt it to be his duty to affect some 
faint interest in the new topic of conversation. 
He had been carelessly aware of an existing 
sister somewhere. Now at least she would 
serve to make talk. 

" Twins always resemble each other in 
popular fiction," he continued. " Is your 
sister like you ? " 

" We used to be very much alike,"- Mary 
answered. " I suppose we are still, but I have 
not seen Millicent for years."- • ■ • 

Gilbert was conscious of thinking -ungal- 
lantly that the world did not benefit' to >any 
great extent by the existence somewhere oh its 
surface of a duplicate of Mary Fysfce.'/JJut 
he masked his lack of chivalry with a- smile, 
said "How very interesting!" and' did -his 
best to look as if he meant it. - - * " 

" I should dearly like to see her. again," 
Mary continued, delighted to-think tha< she 
had found a theme which appeared to ihtsrest 
Gilbert. " She says something In heV letter 
about hoping to come East on ; a Visit* some 
time in the near future. I am sure Thepefahe 
will." -' ' 'r "": 

Gilbert did not share the hope. The 
prospect of a second edition of' Mary making 
claims upon his attention did* not charm. ; 

" Well," he said, drearily, " if she does 
come East I suppose she will stop with Aunt 
Amabel ? " 

" I suppose so." Mary agreed. Thereafter 
conversation languished, and Gilbert was very- 
glad when it was time to strike the home track 
for New York. 

Some days later Gilbert, taking his ease in 
the smoking-room of the Iroquois Club, after 
lunching at once assiduously and fastidiously, 
was summoned to the telephone, and found 
himself in the thick of talk with Margot Van 
Leyden. Mrs. Van Leyden was a dear. Mrs. 
Van Leyden told him that he was to come to 
tea that afternoon. Mrs. Van Leyden threw 
out hints of a charming girl. Of course, Gilbert 
knew that he had no business to entertain 
any ideas of charming girls while he was 
bound in the holy bonds of matrimonial 

engagement to a very uncharmin^ girl in 

* * Qriginalrrom ° ** 




Staten Island, But he also knew that his 
physical and mental temperament were very 
little likely to be governed by ethical considera- 
tions of that kind, and he found himself 
looking forward with a pleasing exhilaration 
to the prospect of meeting a young woman 
whom Mrs. Van Leyden- best judge of 
deli ions virginity in all New York— was 
willing to declare attractive, 


It was therefore with an agreeable sense 
of possible entertainment that Gillie passed 
through the great Van Leyden gates of iron 
and entered the great Van Leyden house, 
which was in reality the great Van Leyden 
palace. He ascended the great Van Leyden 
staircase with composure — he was used to it 
— and was ushered by a world of servants into 
the presence of Mrs. Van Leyden. 

At n'rst he saw nobody hut his hostess, and 
believed her to be alone, an unusual circum- 
stance at such an hour. But even as he took 
her hand he saw that a girl was standing in 

Vol. liLL-10. 

one of the windows with her back to him, 
looking out on to the avenue. 

11 You are just in time to be useful," Mrs. 
Van Leyden said, gaily, " Millicent, come and 
take a cup of tea from Mr. Fravne." 

The young girl turned from the window and 
advanced towards the table, Gilbert gaped 
and gasped. For one bewildered moment he 
thought he was staring into the face of his 

Then in an 
instant he 
realised his 
mistake. This 
maiden, with 
every thin g 
about her 
precisely right 
and ex n ni- 
si tely fine, 
this blithely- 
maiden of the 
modish hail 
and the latest 
law in hat>, 
had indeed a 
su perf icial 
and., as he 
now r e c o g- 
nized, fleeting 
likeness to the 
colourless and 
young person 
of Staten 
Island, bur it 
was scarcely 
more than the 
resemblance a 
bird of Para- 
dise might 
have with 
a sparrow. 
Nevertheless he was startled, and he showed 
it. Mrs. Van Leyden smiled. The girl instantly 
spoke, and her voice sounded faintly like the 
voice of Mary Fyshe if somebody had wound 
her up. 

M Do you think I resemble my sister 
Motlic ? ,T she asked, in a tune of playful 

Gilbert, who had never called Mary 
" Mollie/' looked and spoke as if he were 
trying to swallow an usually large plum, 

"Are vou the twin ? " were the words he 
managed',^ jj f| ^ij. fror 




" I am Millicent Fyshe," said the girl, 
airily, " and I am in New York for a holiday 
with Margot. But you mustn't let Aunt 
Amabel know of it. If she guessed that I had 
left New Orleans she would insist on my 
stopping in Staten Island, and I don't think 
I should like Staten Island." 

"I don't think you would," Gilbert assented. 
" At least, not Staten Island as arranged by 
Aunt Amabel." 

" Well, she isn't going to Staten Island," 
said Margot Van Leyden, decisively, " and 
theoretically she is still in New 'Orleans. 
But practically she is in New York, and under 
my care, and I expect you, Gillie, to do your 
best to give her a good time." 

" I shall be delighted," said Gilbert, and he 
meant it every syllable. 

The next few days passed for Gilbert like 
enchanted days. Mrs. Van Leyden cheerfully 
confided Millicent to his care. 

" If a girl may not go around with her 
future brother-in-law, who may she go around 
with ? " she asked, and Gilbert cordially 
agreed with her. To his satisfaction, and even 
a little to his surprise, the girl's agreement 
was no less cordial. Accordingly, under the 
nominal and far-removed chaperonage of 
Margot Van Leyden, Gillie and Millie — as they 
soon found themselves calling one another — did 
begin to go around. Gilbert adored New York, 
but he had no idea how adorable it was until 
he began to discover its wonders to the 
sympathizing gaze of Millicent Fyshe. And 
what a perfect companion she made for a 
voyage in Wonderland 1 So clever, so jolly, so 
ready for fun, and yet with a quaint little air 
of reserve behind her gaiety. It puzzled him, 
seeing her so deliriously pretty, so animated, 
so alert, so charmingly dressed and cared for, 
to find that he was able to trace a faint, far-off, 
unhappy hint of the lineaments, though not 
of the garments, of the Staten Island twin. 
But he did not let this worry him. He made 
himself the most particular squire of this 
most delightful dame, and also made the most 
of the days and hours. 

Very certainly Millicent was not what 
dreadful people call an Intellectual, but Gillie, 
who was himself no high-brow, would not 
have liked her to be anything of the kind. 
Indeed, one of the elements of his feeling 
towards Mary, a feeling of distaste rather 
than dislike, was a suspicion that she every 
now and then made surreptitious attempts 
to compensate for her unattractiveness 
by timid assertion of a well-informed mind. 
Once he found her reading Emerson. Another 
time she insisted — as far as she could ever 

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be said to insist — on lending him a play by 
Galsworthy. He lost it on the way back to 
New York and had to bluff perusal and 
appreciation. Millicent's reading seemed to 
be- limited to the lightest of popular fiction, 
and her taste in drama was frankly for the 
careless and the gay. Thus she nicely 
balanced Gilbert's own aesthetic equipment, 
and he decided that she was the cleverest she- 
thing he had ever met. Naturally, from 
delight in this new friend's immediate com- 
pany, Gilbert found himself beginning to 
nurture a reluctance to part from her which 
rapidly deepened into dread of the prospect. 
In fact, when Gillie pulled himself together 
one fine morning, he had to admit to himself, 
and he yearned to confess to the girl, that 
he was very much in love with her. 

That same fine morning he lured her to the 
seclusion of the park, where they sat side by 
side. She looked more enticing than ever, he 
thought, as he stared at her admiringly. Did 
any girl ever dress so bewitchingly, have such 
a happy taste in hats, or sport such adorable 
stockings and shoes ? Her winsome face was 
smiling in delicious dimples, her eyes shone 
with the liveliest light, and the way her hair 
was arranged was just a wonder. He knew 
that he simply couldn't do without her. 

If he was thinking of her, apparently she 
was thinking of him, for she said suddenly, 
in a quick little breath : — 

" What is the matter with you, Gillie ? 
You are looking as serious as if you had lost 
a dollar and found a quarter." 

" I am looking serious," Gilbert replied, 
with dignity, for he felt that this day was to 
prove his Jena or his Moscow, " because I am 
feeling serious." 

Millicent did not appear to be impressed 
by the gravity of his manner. 

"" Glory ! " she said. " I did not dream that 
you ever felt serious." 

" There," said Gilbert, with a touch of 
gloom, " is an example of how even the 
cleverest of women may misread a man. 
I have something very serious to say to you." 

" Glory ! " said Millicent again. Whatever 
she may have thought, that was all she said. 

" Millie," said Gillie, " I am head over heels 
in love with you. I can't help it, but there it 
is. You are the queen for me, and there's 
no mistake about it. You are the only woman 
in the world I want to marry, the only 
woman in the world I ever mean to marry." 

"This is so sudden, Horace!" Millicent 
replied, in the style of the fiction she affected. 
" I suppose I must have dreamed that you 
were engaged to my sister Mollie." 

- 1 I L| 1 1 I >.l I I I '.'I 1 1 




" Don't call it a dream," the young man 
urged, eagerly. " Call it a nightmare, for 
that's what it is. I can't do it, I tell you. 
I can't go on with it. I never cared for her 
at all. Indeed, I never really cared — what 
you can call care — for any woman till I 
met you. It beats me how two girls can be 
twin sisters and be so different." 

" It is curious," said Millicent, dryly, " but 
there it is, and we have got to face it. May 
I ask why you got engaged to Mary, if you 
felt like that about her ? " 

" Because my aunt wished me to," Gilbert 
replied, weakly, and fidgeted with his stick. 

4t I did not know you were so devoted to 
your aunt," the girl commented, and there 
was a certain irony in her voice which did 
not escape Gilbert. 

"Well," he said, "to tell the truth, I have 
expectations from my aunt, expectations upon 
which I built a good deal, but ever since she 
adopted your sister she has made me clearly 
understand that those expectations depend 
upon my marriage with Mary. And I thought 
it worth while." 

" Why ? " asked Millicent, with the same 
faintly caustic curiosity. 

" Why, you see," Gilbert explained, apolo- 
getically, " I have only a little bit of my 
own, and I've always, thanks to my aunt's 
liberality, been used to live in a certain way, 
a very pleasant way, and so " 

" And what has made you change your 
mind ? " Millicent asked, with an odd expres- 
sion upon her fascinating face which Gilbert 
did not heed. 

" You," he said, simply. " I'd rather 
have you than all the money in the world. 
Of course, supposing you were willing to take 
me, I'd have to change my style of life. I 
couldn't keep on the flat I have now, and 
I couldn't remain a member of the Iroquois 
Club, and I couldn't have a car and a yacht 
and all the rest of it. But I have enough 
for you and me to live on in a sort of way, 
if you are willing to share it." 

" Couldn't you do something to make a 
little money ? " the girl asked, gravely. 
Gilbert's face lengthened. 

" I don't think so," he said, dismally 
enough. The thought of doing something 
startled him at first as much as if he had 
swallowed a glass of water when he thought 
he was tossing off a " Kiss-me-quick " 
cocktail. Then his face brightened. 

" I don't know. I suppose everybody can 
do something if he makes up his mind and sets 
about it in the right way. Anyway, I'll do 
my b?st, and we shouldn't starve, Millie." 


" And my sister, what about her ? " 
Millicent questioned, quietly. 

" She won't mind, poor girl," Gilbert 
insisted. " She'll be jolly glad to get rid 
of me, I should say, and she'll get all the old 
lady's money instead of having to share 
it with me, so she'll find me a blessing in 
disguise. So say it's all right, Millie." 

" I won't give you an answer right now," 
Millicent said, decisively. " You have got 
to be a little man and hop off to Staten Island 
to-morrow and tell your auntie that you have 
changed your mind and are ready to take 
the consequences. You mustn't say who 
your new flame is, or she might be tempted 
to think that one twin was as good as another. 
When you have cut yourself clean adrift from 
your prospects you can talk to me again." 

Gillie and Millie spent the rest of the day 
in the familiar pleasant fashion without 
further love talk. Gillie dined at Mrs. 
Van Leyden's as usual, and the usual theatre 
party followed, and the usual supper fol- 
lowed that. When they parted, Millie 
reminded Gillie that he was to go down to 
Staten Island the following afternoon in 
time to catch his aunt at her tea, and over 
the tea-cups to make a clean breast of it. 

The following afternoon saw Gilbert in 
Staten Island, seated at his aunt's tea- 
table; found him, after an uncomfortable 
mouthful or two, making a clean breast of 
it. The old lady listened to him in a rigid 
silence, and when he had finished spoke. 

" You know, I suppose, what this means 
with regard to the disposal of mv fortune ? " 

" Yes/' said Gilbert. " I think I know 
all about that." 

" Not a penny of my money will you 
inherit if you do not marry Mary Fyshe," 
said the old lady, peremptorily. " .And 
you know that I always keep my word." 

"I know that," said Gilbert. "And I 
won't say that I'm not sorry about it, for 
it wouldn't be true, but I'm not going to give 
up the best girl ever for all the money in the 
world, so thank you very much for all you 
have done in the past for me, and good-bye." 

" You must say good-bye to Mary, too," 
said the old lady, sharply. 

" I think I'd better not," Gilbert expos- 
tulated. " It would only be awkward for 
both of us." 

" Nonsense," said Miss Amabel, briskly. 

" Of course you must see her. It would 

be most uncivil not to." She rose to her 

feet. " Wait here and I will send the poor 

girl to you." 

She quitted the room, leaving Gilbert 
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in an ecstasy of nervous discomfort. It 
was one thing telling his aunt that he did 
not want to marry, and did not mean to 
marry f Mary Fyshe ; it was quite another 
thing to tell the same thing to Mary Fyshe 
herself. He was even meditating a flight to the 
train when the door opened and, to Gilbert's 
bewilderment , Millicent Fyshe walked in, 
radiantly fair and gloriously gowned, 

" Why did you come here ? ft he stam- 
mered. " Does Mary know all about it ? " 

' Mary knows all about it," said the girl, 
mockingly. lt And Millie knows all about 
it. And Gillie seems to be the only person 
who doesn't know all about it. Do you really 
mean to say that you don't guess me ? " 

For a pair of shattering seconds Gilbert 
felt as if he were the particularly favoured 

myself, because, you see, I did like you if 
you didn't like me/' 
" What a fool I must have been!" 
" Not at all," said Mary- Millicent. [1 1 was 
such a poor little country mouse. So I 
stood up to my guardian and there was a 
fearful row, and I was sent to my room, 
and I got out by tying my sheets together 
and made my way to New York and Mrs. 
Van Ley den a whom I knew in my school- 
days, I told her my story and my plan, 
and she was a dear and helped me. I had 
a little money of my own in the bank, enough 
to buy the clothes you thought so pretty 


victim of a highly-concentrated cyclone. 
In a whirl and nutter of lights and colours 
he saw Millie's pretty face shift to Mollie's 
plain face, and Millie's modish garments 
dwindle to Mollie's dowdy gowns. Then 
they shifted hack again, and he knew that 
he was facing Millie. Also he knew that he 
was facing Mollie. So he did the best thing 
he could do in the extraordinary circum- 
stances, and he caught Millie and Mollie 
in his arms at the same time, 

11 You see/ 1 Mary said presently, when they 
were sitting side by side on the sofa, " I 
realized all along how bored you were with 
me, and at last an idea came into my head 
and I made up my mind to rebel against 
Miss Fravne and to take a hand in the game 

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and to turn the moth into the butterfly, 

I never really was a stupid girl, though I 

know I seemed so JJ — Gilbert attempted 

to protest, but a lifted finger checked him 

— +£ and my finery banished my shyness p 

and we had quite a good time, hadn't we ? 

Then Miss Fravne, who is a dear, good soul 

in reality, found out through a detective 

agency where I was, and wrote me such a 

sweet letter asking me to come back to her. 

And just then you proposed to Millicent, 

So I returned to Statin Island this morning 

and told her everything and you came down 

to Staten Island this afternoon and told her 

something. Now what have you got to say? " 

" Will you marry me ? " Gilbert asked 

instantly, and. Mary .answered, " I will." 
Original from 



HE enlistment of actors of 
military age is creating serious 
difficulty for stage-managers. 
Already we hear of several 
pr o j ec ted prod u c t i o ns being 
put aside owing to the im- 
possibility of casting the young 
men's parts, whilst some of the provincial 
companies have had to ubanden their tours. 
In these circumstances the suggestion has been 
made in various quarters that, for the dura- 
tion of the war, the usage of the Elizabethan 
stage might be reversed, and actresses be 
asked to undertake some of the male parts. 
There are. of course, precedents for this 
course. In the middle of the last century 
Miss Charlotte Cushman, the great American 
actress, appeared on the London stage in 
the characters of Romeo, Hamlet. Cardinal 
Wolsey, and Claude Melnotte, the motive 
in her case arising from a remarkable sisterly 
devotion — she was anxious when having her 
own company that the less- talented sister, 
Susan, should have opportunities of distin- 
guishing herself as the " leading lady." 
At a somewhat earlier period Mme. Yestris 
carried London by storm in such masculine 
roles as Don Giovanni, Captain Mac heath, 
Paul ("Paul and Virginia ), and (herubino 


( iC Marriage of Figaro "). But these were sin - 
ing parts, and the enterprise of Mme. Vestris 
was therefore the less remarkable. More to 
the point was Mme- Sarah Bemhardt's imper- 
sonation of Hamlet only a few years ago. 

What do our present-day actresses think 
of the proposal ? That, after all, is the 
crucial point, and in order to put it to the 
test we have consulted a number of the 
" leading ladies " who might he called upon 
to impersonate men to enable the stage to 
il carry on if in spite of the severe exigencies 
of the war, our chief question being : t( As- 
suming that actresses are * conscripted ' to 
take the parts of men called to the Colours, 
what male character would you most prefer — - 
or shall we say least object— to perform ? T ' 


Even in this form some actresses refused 
to consider the question. 'To me f " says 
Miss Fortescue, for example, * c it is impossible 
for 'she' males to play 'he 1 male parts 
adequately — that is to say, to replace a male 
performer in a male part. At best the efforts 
of the most celebrated or talented actresses 
who have endeavoured to do so have resulted 
in a verdict of ' very wonderful — but ' — and 
the ' but ' seems to settle the matter. If I 
Original from 




were obliged by some imaginary law or ' law 
in Fairy bmd * to appear in a male character^ 
the Village Idiot would be my c hoi re as 
the most appropriate character for the 
proceeding and the one which I might hope 
to fill with least trouble to myself and pain 
to the onlooker." 

Miss Fortescue's flippant contempt is 
unjust to the memory of Miss Charlotte 
Cushman, whose Romeo was acclaimed by 
the leading critics witnessing the performance, 
including J, Sheridan Knowles, who wrote : 
14 Unanimous mid lavish as were the en- 
comiums of the London Press^ 1 was not 
prepared for such a triumph of pure genius." 
MUs Fortescuc's uncompromising view, 
moreover, is in flat opposition to that of 
our greatest dramatic critic of recent years, 
Clement Scott, who declared of Sarah 
Bernhardt'* performance of Hamlet : " The 
whole thing was imagination, electrical and 
poetical. As a rule the play exhausts one. 
There was no exhaustion with Surah IHrn- 
hardt — only exhilaration." 

miss ullah McCarthy. 

In greatest contrast to Miss Fortes cue's 
attitude is the reply of that very intellectual 
actress. Miss Lillah McCarthy, which, owing 
to her absence from London, was made by 
post ; M The question of women performing 
men's parts on the stage is most interesting. 

fMa H BMvtl <t Fry, 

It has great difficulties for the modern roles, 
but in costume plays and poetic drama I see 
no trouhle. In fact, a whole gallery of lovers 
troop into my mind. 

M For instance, I would pladly try to play 
my favourite lover's part — Romeo — and there 
are several other Shakespearean parts that 
could well be played by women . Of the modern 
authors: Pierrot, in 'Prunella.* by Laurence 
Housman and Granville Barker ; Neanias, 

Digitized byl^OQgle 

in * Pan and the Young Shepherd/ by Maurice 
Hewlett ; the Rev. Gavin Disbar t, in L The 
Little Minister/ by J, M. Barric ; Paolo, in 
* Paolo and Franceses^' by Stephen Phillips ; 
Christopher Mahon, in ( The Playboy of the 
Western World/ by John M. Synge ; Andro- 
cleSj in 4 AndrocJes and the Lion/ by Bernard 
Shaw j Eugene Marsh ban Its, in * Candida/ 
by Bernard Shaw ; Peer Gynt, in 4 Peer 
Gynt/ by Ibsen ; Prince, in l Swan white/ by 
August Strindbcrg ; Pelleas, in ' Pelleas and 
Melisande/ by Maeterlinck; and Paolo, in 
' Francesca da Rimini/ by Gabriel D*An- 
nuniio. But I must closej or my gallery will 
be overpoweringly full — and perhaps too 
ambitious. Still, it is pleasant to reflect 
on what might come in the near future/ 1 

Mlss McCarthy's choice of Romeo is justi- 
fiedj as we have already indicated, by the 
unqualified success which has already been 
achieved in the part by one of her own sex. 
And the list she gives us of the male parts 
she considers most suitable for women shows 
that she has given the question the most 
serious and careful consideration, bringing to 
bear upon it her rich and varied experience 
in the histrionic art. 


Hamlet j the other preat part in which the 
dramatic versatility of women has vindicated 
itself, was chosen bv Miss Lily Brayton in 

the course of a conversation during an 
entr'acte of " Chu Chin Chow" at His Majesty's 
Theatre, u I should hate to act a man's 
part in modern plays," said Miss Brayton, 
" although I agree with you that it is im- 
possible to say what will be required of one 
during this war. But with Shakespeare it 
would be different, and of all Shakespeare 1 ?; 
characters Hamlet interests me most. It is 
the love-makii}gj|j^f^ r ^|^hould most object 




to in taking a man's parts., and in Hamlet 
this is quite subordinate to the other interests 
of the play t the philosophy of the character 
being predominant almost throughout, 

" Hamlet has been played by several 
actressesj notably, ci course, Sarah Bernhardt. 
I saw Mme. Bernhardt^ performance at the 
Memorial Theatre, Stratford-on-Avon, and 
greatly admired it. When I was a member 
of Benson's company I played Ophelia a 
number of times s and, as you ma\ remember, 
I was Ophelia to Air, H. B« Irving's Hamlet. 
The play has always intensely interested me. 
Yes 3 if I have to take a man's part, Hamlet 
would certainly be my choice," 


*' I have a passionate aversion," declares 
If iss Edyth Goodall. whose impersonation of 
the somewhat masculine character of Maggie 

rjtav fry w p >fliA*r <i i?wju. 

Hobson in " Hobson's Choice r ' has greatly 
advanced her reputation among our rising 
actresses, H to women playing men's parts. 
To me they lose ell their own charm T and 
convey nothing of a man's. Of coiljm , very 
young men are possible. The Shakespeare 
parts such as Viola and Rosalind, where a 
vvtmm masquerades as a very young and 
fragile youth, are a delight to play, but 
beyond that I should he filled with horror 
at the thought of being obliged to play a 
man's part. 

"If in some circumstances I had to do 
so or, say, leave the stage, I would choose the 
Poet (Eugene Marshbanks) in * Candida T j 
first, because he is exceptionally young; 
secondly, because he is perhaps a little 
effeminate — in the sense of having a woman's 
quick sensibilityand intuition; thirdly, because 
I think I understand him. The lack of all the 
1 brute * qualities in Eugene would, it seems 
to me, bring him more nearly within the 

Digitized by LiQOglC 

range of a woman's powers than most mas* 
culine characters. I think that the more* 
feminine a woman is the more hopeless would 
she be in a man's part — the completer her 
womanhood the further she is away from 
assuming any semblance of manhood — the 
finer actress she is, the worse would be her 
failure in a man's part,, as her best medium 
would be useless. 

"If I had to cast a play where the men's 
parts were to be played by worn en t I would 
choose the least sexed and most passionless 
women I could find — those who had least of 
the woman in them to eliminate, and this 
though Viola is one of my dearest favourites. 
But Cesario was hardly a man. God forbid 
that I shall ever be f conscripted * to play 
Hamlet/ 1 

It will be noticed that the character in 
George Bernard Shaw's play chosen by Miss 
Goodall, regarded as the smallest of a 
necessarily evil thing, is included in Miss 
Lillah McCarthy's list of male parts most 
suitable for impersonation by women. But 
her reference to Hamlet sounds curiously, in 
view of Sarah Bernhardt r s achievement and 
Miss Lily Bray ton's decided choice. 


Miss Compton had no difficulty in stating 
that David Garrick would be her choice if 
a male character. 

" I have seen my father/' she said, M play 
it so often that I know just how it ought to 
be played. Also a white wig is a very 
becoming thing; and does away with the wear- 
ing of the awful wig that goes with modern 
clothes, or the alternative of cutting one's 
hair off, which I am sure no girl would really 
like to do, in spite of the short hair worn 

such a lot nowadays — which is a very 
TJriginarfronr J 




different thing to cutting one's hair close to 
the head like a man. Anyhow, David 
Garrick must be a nice part to play." 


Miss Lena Ash well was decisive in her 
choice of King Lear. 
" I shoirid choose King Lear/' she said. 

t%oto. by Kllii*t W*»m% 

" partly because he is one of the finest 
characters in one of Shakespeare's finest 
tragedies, and incidentally a favourite play 
of mine, and partly because I think a woman 
can understand and sympathize with this 
character and the tragedy of it better than a 


When Miss Unity If ore was seen in the 
wings of Daly's Theatre, " I could not plav 
Hamlet," she said, emphatically, at the 

Photo, by SlUt <t Watery. 

beginning of the interview. " In fact, I 
don't quite know what I could play, What 
would you suggest ? " 

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In the course of the subsequent talk the 
following parts were discussed: Malvolio, 
in " Twelfth Night " ; D'Artagnan, in " The 
Three Musketeers"; Mercutio, in *' Romeo 
and Juliet ,J ; Claude Melnotte, in " The Lady 
of Lyons" ; and Bob Acres, in (i The Rivals/' 

*' I am at a disadvantage," said Miss More, 
" because I have seen so few plays other than 
those I have acted in." 

" Well, Miss More, Peter Pan is one of 
your most successful impersonations. What 
character do you think he would most 
resemble if — we know he won't— he grew 
up to be a nnan ? " 

[< Ah ^ that's very hard to say. On the 
whole^ I think, of the characters we have 
discussed, D'Artagnan would suit me best. 
There again I have not had the opportunity 
of seeing the part played, but when I read 
the book I fell in love with the character," 


Let us now give the view of Miss Julia James, 
the leading lady at the Gaiety, as expounded 
in the green-room of that theatre :— 

Phut*, by Wmthtr rf Buyt. 

I( I am afraid my choice/' she says, " is 
rather an obvious one — Orlando in ' As You 
Like It. ] It seems to me to be a part which 
a girl could play perhaps almost as well as 
a man. One gets the impression, perhaps, 
from the fact that actresses taking the part 
of Rosalind have impersonated Orlando, as 
required by the play, with so much ease and 

It may be remembered that in contrast 
to her Gaiety performance Miss James has 
taken the part of Sybil Vane in so serious a 
play as Oscar Wilde's hi The Picture of Dorian 
G ray J ' B u t S h akes pear e ? 

14 Xo," she says, H I have never played in 
Shakespeare, but I .always enjoy the plays 

Original from 




whenever I get the opportunity of seeing 
one y and if it became a matter of duty I 
should be delighted to see what I could do 
as Orlando." 


MercutiOj in " Romeo and Juliet/' proved 
to be the choice of Miss Ellaline Terriss, 
Miss Terriss gave tie reason for her choice 

Photo, bit FbUlshaw. <t Bctoyfylth 

beyond the statement that the part with its 
famous " Queen Mab " speech/ as rendered 
by her father, William Terriss, had always 
lived in her memory from a child. But" 
admirers of this charming actress will have 
no difficulty in picturing her successfully 
embodying the -grace and chivalry of this 
vivacious and volatile young nobleman, 


It was of Touchstone that Miss Marion 
Terry first spoke in the course of an interview 
at her flat in Buckingham Palace Mansions, 
Shakespeare's fools appealing to her as the 
most ideal parts for feminine representation. 

4t In my opinion Shakespeare's clowns are 
the most suitable parts for women, because 
they are practically independent of the 
standpoint of sex, whilst the portrayal of 
their dramatic qualities is not inconsistent 
with the natural capacities of a woman. 
Then there are some parts in old comedy 
which, largely because of their costume, 
could perhaps be played by actresses with 
the least violence to the illusion* I should 
love to play Charles Surface, which was a 
favourite part of my father's, if I were a 
man, I have played Lady Teazle and other 
parts in * The School for Scandal '— although 
not in London— and I have seen Sir Charles 
Wyndham as Charles Surface, which has 
always seemed to me a charming character- 

4i Possibly, if women had to take men's 

parts, it might lead to a revival of old comedy, 
which would be an excellent thing. But I 
hope it won't come to this, because, however 
clever an actress may be, I don't think she 
can play a man's part without injury to the 
illusion. At the same time, rather than that 
the theatre should have to close down, I 
would in the last resort be prepared to take 
a man's part myself, As a public recreation 

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there is no real alternative to the stage. 
The cinema? Well, it is merely photography, 
and the charm and beauty of dramatic 
diction are lost. 

" A friend who was with me just now 
suggested that I might take the part of 
the Scarlet Pimpernel — this being also a 
costume part. But in that case I am afraid 
I might be confused with my brother, Mr. 
Fred Terry. Then I have thought of Orlando, 
a part which is really somewhat effeminate, 
but I think 1 should prefer above all to appear 
in the character of Charlfes Surface, if in the 
last resort, as a matter of patriotic duty, I 
had to become a man," 

To sum up, we think we may take it, having 

regard to the representative character of 

those contributing to our symposium, that 

the leading actresses may be divided into 

three classes on the question discussed. A few 

would return a nan passu mus to the proposal 

that even during the- war women should do 

the work of men on the stage, Others would 

really welcome the opportunity. The third 

and largest class -— w r hilst more or less 

reluctant to assume men's parts — would yet 

bravely face this task as an alternative 

either to suspending the business of the stage 

in national recreation or seriously curtailing 

the share that actors are called upon to take 

in upholding the national cause upon the 

field of battle, 

Original from 


1 he Ajtcid 




Illustrated by Charles Horrell. 

ND so you see. dear Basil, it 
cannot be. Babette is now 
twenty- four, and cannot 
wait for ever* and someone 
else is very fond of her, and 
I think— though she was, of 
course, awfully fond of you 
—she Is now fond of him ! I do not think 
we ran blame her— she is a very pretty girl, 
though I say it, and it Is unreasonable to 
think that anyone so much in request ran 
be tied always to a man she so seldom sees. 

" Babette is very sorry for you ; so am I, 
Basil dear, and Mr. Pickthall, though he is 
so silent, always liked you, as I think you 
know. We sincerely hope that things are 
not as bad as you fancy them, and that after 
aU it will turn out for the best, 

* s P.S, — Babette is returning your letters 
and also your photographs. We trust you 
to send back her letters ; the photographs she 
says vou may keep, 

» PP.$ — She would write herself, but I will 
not let her — it is such u painful matter, and 
the child is so delicate and easily upset." 

There are certain letters — not necessarily 
literary letters, but always such as deal 
with the great, primitive, human emotions — 
which, read and re-read times almost with- 
out number, burn themselves ineffaceably 
upon the stricken human brain, Basil Carrow, 
bent beneath a blow which had been, in part, 
expected , lay ba<:k at this moment weak and 
nerveless in his chair. 

It was three o'clock ; the May sun was 
alternately hiding and shining ; a north-east 
wind, blowing strongly, pierced through men's 
garments and set an icy touch upon their 
very marrows ; lunch — a scrag of mutton, a 
loaf of stale bread, a piece of dry cheese — 
Jay untasted on the tabic ; he had been called 
out to see a patient directly after breakfast 
and before the postman reached the village ; 
he had had a breakdown on his poor, second- 
hand motor-cycle ; he had come home, 
shaken, jaded, too tired to be hungry, to find 
this letter on his plate. Small wonder that 
he had eaten nothing. This was indeed the 
ultimate straw. 

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All had gone wrong with him since he had 
left St. Bartholomew's, he had had no luck 
whatsoever ; everything which he had touched 
brought misfortune — yet the fault was not 
wholly Fate's. He himself had been an 
accessory. He had been madly impetuous. 
He had fairly asked for trouble— like many an 
excellent man. 

And the trouble for which he had asked 
had come to him, as so often happens, through 
the nobler side of his nature, through the 
good things in him, not the bad. In the hist 
year of his life at the hospital he had fallen 
in love with a charming, attractive, intelligent, 
yet nevertheless shallow girl. 

He had met her and her kind but foolish 
little mother at an Earl's Court boarding- 
house where he was living; he had been 
immediately attracted by her unusualness, 
and her superiority in most respects to the 
very few women whom — the orphan child of 
Cumberland parents— he had met since he 
had come to London ; he did not see that 
with all her good qualities she was somewhat 
vain and selfish ; young, sincere, and idealistic, 
he had keyed her up in his imagination as a 
painter keys up the colour- tones of a picture, 
and had endowed her, in his romantic fashion, 
with a host of qualities which she did not, and 
could never, possess. She was no wife for a 
struggling doctor : she would find happiness 
in little short of luxury ; she was bored to 
death when she and her mother came occa- 
sionally to stay with him at Ambersdale. 
although when the practice was in the market 
she had thought it ideal, and had urged him 
to buy it at once. 

He had bought it : he had fairly rushed 
the purchase, putting into it the last two 
hundred and fifty pounds of his capital, the 
remainder of the two thousand which had 
been left by his father — also a doctor — and 
which had sufficed to give him a public-school 
education and to pay his fees at the hospital ; 
the practice, indeed, looked excellent upon 
paper ; and many names were on the books. 
His predecessor (who had married a wealthy 
woman) and his predecessor's predecessor had 
let the practice down dreadfully, and he him- 
self had had an immediate stroke of ill-luck* 
Original from 





He had lost a patient while performing an 
operation, and under an anaesthetic adminis- 
tered by a brother-practitioner — a thing 
which might happen to anyone; and in 
consequence the public held aloof. He lost 
what few better-* lass patients would have 
been faithful in other circumstances ; and 
the panel people, who had deserted his prede- 
cessor, were not in any hurry to return, 
Sotitarv, wretched, miserable, and unsuc- 

Digitized by t-OOfik 

ressful, he had the bitter mortification of 
seeing other doctors daily in the village, where 
they rented surgeries — doctors from Belboro 
and Hawford, a big town and a fair-sized 
hamlet, the one seven and the other three 
miles away. 

He had fought hard and valiantly as far 
as circumstance had allowed him ; certainly 
he had begun to make a little headway 
recently; .panel patients, hearing of the 




attention which he gave to others — and with 
the poor man's instinct to consult the least 
rich doctor — had begun to come to him ; 
but the gentry and the farmers still remained 
aloof. His working expenses were enormous. 
Though he lived like two Spartans, he was 
heavily in debt. The house was large. He 
had furnished it on the hire system, and 
Babette's choice had naturally not been 
cheap. He was behind with the instalments. 
His drug bill was heavy ; the cost of petrol 
was high ; that morning he had discovered 
that the repair of his motor-cycle — the round, 
though unprofitable, was over rough and 
remote country — was going to cost five pounds. 
A small sum ? No, a large one when it has to 
be found out of no sum, and when finding it 
is vital to a job. Not that it was vital, 
though. The job was no longer possible. 
Hj had decided to give it up. To make good 
was out of the question. If he remained a 
month longer he would be in the county 
court. He was going to get a post as ship's 
doctor, take a voyage or two, recover his 
health, which had been sorely taxed by 
solitude and under-feeding ; then, with his 
excellent qualifications — he had taken his 
M.D. while vainly waiting for patients — he 
would get a Government or County Council 

He had written to Babette a week ago, 
telling her of his position, that he could not 
marry her for years. The reply was what he 
had expected ; yet, since he was human, he 
had hoped always ; perhaps, indeed , he had 
judged a charming little lady, somewhat prone 
to pleasure, after his own and steadfast heart. 

He struggled through some food with dis- 
taste and difficulty ; when he had finished he 
rose and went over to a large, roll-topped 
desk in the window. He was going to write 
a few letters ; one in particular most essential 
to the step which he meant to take. For he 
had special influence with a former school- 
fellow whose father was a director of a famous 
shipping firm. 

But he did not begin to write immedi- 
ately. There was something more interesting 
to do. The window — since his house was built 
upon a gentle eminence — looked over an 
ancient mellow-red wall before it, and com- 
manded an animated scene. 

On the green slopes of a splendid park, 
which declined gloriously beneath a fine old 
Tudor mansion, whose turrets and gables 
alone showed themselves above a girdle of 
magnificent oak trees, children in summer 
frocks were running races ; grown men and 
women likewise ; in another direction youths 

were scrambling along a greasy pole in quest 
of a prize at the end of it ; they were falling, 
one after the other, into a canvas bath beneath 
it amid the onlookers' screams of delight. 
On the lake — a large fine sheet of ornamental 
water — parties were rowing ; farmers, young, 
middle-aged, and elderly, were grouped beside 
great marquees. They had lunched well and 
looked like it ; their contentment was visible 
in their manner ; they crooked arm in arm 
jovially and thumped each other's backs. 
And in a large, roped-in enclosure was a 
Belboro volunteer band. 

It was a fete given by Lord Bonfield to his 
tenants on his return and retirement after 
many years abroad as Ambassador ; the entire 
village was his property ; the invitations had 
been universal ; and only Basil Carrow in 
his great wretchedness had deliberately 
stayed away. Men who feel that all for which 
they have laboured is becoming vain and 
crumbling to nothing are not in the mood to 
mix merrily with the happy and untroubled 

The sun shone, conquering, for the time 
being, the bitter and abominable north- 
easter ; the band blared out its music ; 
through the open window came the joyous 
strains of the " Jolly Spinster " waltz. Basil 
shuddered. He had danced to it so often 
with Babette Pickthall — who danced beauti- 
fully. Now all was over ; he felt suddenly 
suicidal ; he had nothing left in life. For a 
moment — so great was his anguish — he felt 
that he would kill himself ; but the moment 
swiftly passed. He was not the only young 
man who has experienced such sensations 
and has lived to fight again. He subdued 
some of his wretchedness, took up his pen 
resolutely, and began the letter which was 
to give Lord Bonfield's agent formal notice 
that he desired to relinquish the house. 

The letter was finished, and others with it ; 
he was still writing when a woman entered 
the room. She was his housekeeper and only 
servant — a middle-aged peasant, hired cheaply 
in the village; honest enough, but naturally 
untidy and inefficient ; she cooked execrably, 
and made the merest pretence of sometimes 
mending his socks. His other underclothing 
was horribly out, both at elbows and at 

" Mr. Stanford from the Court, sir ! " she 
said, and advanced towards him. " He 
wishes to see you at once." 

Basil Carrow started visibly. Men in his 
case see new misfortunes everywhere. What 
was coming now ? Stanford was Lord Bon- 
field's butler, and had been in charge at the 

by L^OOgle 





Court while it had been empty these many 
years. The rent was overdue. Had the 
agent spoken to Lord Bonfield that day about 
it ? Had the butler been sent to demand 
and receive the amount ? The idea was pre- 
posterous and untenable for a second. But 
Basil was too worried to reflect. That 
strange fear of the unknown common to all 
sensitive natures — especially when physically 
exhausted — took him by the throat. And 
his voice, despite all effort, was anything but 

" Where is he ? " he asked. 

" In the drawing-room, sir. I thought it 
would be best to show him in there. " 

" Very well, Mrs. Soames. Thank you. 
I will come and see him at once." 

The woman went out. Basil followed her 
and entered a room on the opposite side of 
the hall. Lord Bonfield's butler rose as the 
doctor approached. He was tall, and inclin- 
ing somewhat to stomach ; round faced, a 
touch pompous, a very amiable, decent fellow 
of his kind. But Basil, in his overwrought 
condition and fearful of the man's business 
with him, saw an enemy where one did not 

" Good afternoon/ 1 he said, with a stiffness 
which concealed his marked anxiety. " What 
is it that you want ? " 

" His lordship would like to see you as 
soon as you can find it convenient to come." 

Basil started. Again the fear of the un- 
known took hold of him ; with an immense 
effort he assumed an assured manner, the 
more difficult to compass in that he felt that 
this calm creature who held the brim of a 
bowler hat in ten fat fingers could see through 
the worn tweeds in" which he had been cycling 
and discern the uncovered knees and elbows 

" Indeed ! " he replied, indifferently. " I 
hope that nothing is amiss." 

" Well, sir, I hope nothing serious. But his 
lordship is in considerable pain. He felt it 
first at luncheon. Miss Bonfield sent me 
across for you. She will be glad if you will 
come without delay." 

" But Dr. Firkins from Belboro is the Court 
doctor " 

" I beg your pardon, sir ; he is my doctor. 
He only came to the Court while his lordship 
was away. His lordship would not hear of 
any other doctor than the local one. It is 
the custom of the family never to go outside 
the village for anything if it can be helped." 

" Ah, in that case I will come with you. 
No, within ten minutes. I will leave here no 
later than that." 

by L^OOgle 

" Very good, sir. I will inform his lord- 
ship at once." 

The butler turned. Basil — who had had 
the fight of his life to conceal his exultation, 
and was not sure that he had been successful 
— accompanied him to the front door, opened 
it, shut it on the man hastily, and hurried 
upstairs. He tore off the old suit in which 
he had been cycling, got into a suit which was 
not too new and which became him, changed 
his collar, and arranged a black bow tie. 
His toilet completed, he glanced instinctively 
into the mirror and, seeing himself, was 
amazed. The last time he had worn this suit 
had been eighteen months ago — when he had 
still been something of a boy. Now there 
were grave lines about his mouth ; the cheeks 
were thinner ; the jaws were lantern-like ; 
the well-cut nostrils showed more delicate 
than of old. The hair had receded a little on 
the temples. It was a distinguished face — - 
one to inspire confidence, so that the patient 
did not know how worn and spiritless its owner 
secretly was. And now, indeed, there was a 
light in it, the light of a veritable exaltation, 
kindled by the torch of hope. 

He ran downstairs, snatched his hat from 
the hall-table, hurried down the garden, 
crossed the high road, and soon the Court 
rose tall before him, splendid and Tudoresque. 
The butler threw open the door, and Basil 
Carrow found himself in a vast apartment 
having lofty bay windows which heraldic 
glass made more remarkable. The splendour 
of it staggered the visitor. He felt nervous 
of the place, nervous of the butler — and also 
of a strange young man. 

He was a very charming young man, with 
crisp, sandy hair which had gold in it ; he 
was lean ; his features were classical and a 
little over-fine. He looked like the aristocrat 
of fiction incarnated. His manner was delight- 
ful ; and he had a most agreeable voice. 

" Good afternoon, doctor," he said. " I 
am glad we caught you at home. My father 
is in some pain, and we are naturally anxious. 
I will take you to him at once." 

He led the way up three or four steps to 
the left of the large apartment and into a 
long room with great windows at the south 
end of it, before which stood a magnificently- 
carved oak desk. The overmantel was 
coloured in blue and gold to display the 
arms of the original owners ; and there were 
numerous chairs and settees. On a large sofa 
lay a man, with a young woman seated 
beside him. At the sight of Basil — and 
despite her attempt to deter him — he got 
upon his feet. 




He was a tall, thin man of very distin- 
guished appearance ; he wore a small, black, 
thread-like moustache and an Imperial ; his 
manner was just perceptibly cosmopolitan, 
since he had lived on the Continent for so 
many years. His forehead was dome-like. 
He gave the impression of possessing great 
intellect. Formerly a clerk in the Foreign 
Office, he had risen by sheer merit to be 
British Ambassador at one Asian and two 
European Courts. Born a commoner, he had 
received a peerage for his great services ; 
Longstone Court was his by virtue of his 
marriage, his late wife having been the only 
daughter and heiress of Sir John Dalbiac, 
whose family had owned the property since 
Elizabethan days. His son — the handsome 
boy who accompanied Basil— was in the 
Army, and — for the day's ceremonies — on 

The Ambassador was pale. That he was 
in considerable pain was Very apparent ; he 
bowed to Basil and immediately sank back 
upon the sofa, half sitting, half recumbent, 
supported by pillows at his back. The doctor 
looked at him for a moment. Then he put a 
question. The Ambassador faintly explained. 

44 I am unable to retain any food," he said. 
" I have considerable bodily pain. I caught 
a chill in the treacherous north-east wind 
yesterday. I felt feverish when I awoke." 

Basil nodded. He himself felt a little 
feverish with excitement ; he had rarely been 
in so spacious an apartment, and not for a 
long time in the presence of so distinguished 
a man. There was another reason for his 
discomfort — but that he was only half con- 
scious of ; he mastered his nerves, took out 
his thermometer, shook it, wiped it, and put 
it under the patient's tongue. While the 
sensitive instrument did its business, he felt 
the patient's pulse. It was fast. The ther- 
mometer told of fever. He made a slight 
examination. The son looked on anxiously. 
The girl had walked to the window and had 
turned her back on the couch. 

Basil took plenty of time. When he had 
finished, he was satisfied that there was 
nothing seriously to fear. 

4k You have a touch of gastritis, sir," he 
said, presently. " You had better get to bed 
at once. There is no positive need for it, but 
I think you will perhaps be more comfortable 
if I send to Belboro for a nurse." 

" No ; you needn't do that. I can do all 
that is necessary — all ! " 

The voice came from by the window : Miss 
Bonfield — whose presence had been the secret 
cause of the lonelv Basil's self-consciousness — 

crossed the room towards him, and he found 
himself looking her in the eyes. They were 
very beautiful eyes : clear and hazel and 
widely and deeply set. The complexion and 
colouring were that of her brother — only more 
delicate. The nose was like a young eagle's. 
The mouth was proud. The underlip was full 
and red. 

44 1 should prefer to look after my father," 
she said, eagerly. 44 1 have had considerable 
experience. I took a year's course at an 
English hospital abroad. If it is only gastritis, 
I can easily do all that you want." 

Basil hesitated — hesitated considerably. 
He had the expert's instinctive horror of 
the semi-amateur. But, trained or partly 
trained, the girl was charming ; the more 
charming in that he had had speech with 
no educated woman for three parts of a year. 
Also, there was another reason why he should 
not refuse her : a nurse from Belboro might 
find fault with the treatment in his absence 
and, knowing of his scanty practice and 
slender reputation, might urge the family to 
call in one of the other doctors who, though 
living at Belboro and Hawford respectively, 
had surgeries in the village hard by. 

44 Very well, then," he answered. " You 
may nurse your father, I daresay he would 
prefer you to anyone else. I will send some 
medicine. A diet of lime-water and -milk — 
the milk must, of course, be peptonized — I 
will bring over some tubes this evening — 
and keep the patient warm, above all." 

She nodded. Basil turned to Lord Bonfield 
who lay, faintly smiling, on the couch. 

44 I should advise you to get to bed, sir, 
immediately," he urged. 44 1 will come and 
see you later on." 

He bowed to the Ambassador and his 
handsome son and daughter. With a frank, 
quick impulse the girl put out her hand. 

44 Thank you for trusting me to nurse my 
father," she said. " It is very good of you 

Their hands met. Their eyes met also ; 
Carrow's tired ones getting an amazing and 
sudden stimulus from hers, which were so 
young and so bright. Then he turned and 
went down into the great hall and out into 
the quadrangle and thence into the drive. 

It was not until he had ceased for a little 
to think of the case, and was out in the road- 
way, that he realized properly what this 
unexpected summons meant ; to how great 
an extent it was manna from heaven ; the 
absolute turning of the tide. Lord Bonfield, 
a British Ambassador, had sent for him ; 
barring accidents he, Basil ('arrow, was made. 


'-1 1 1 i ti i ii .' i 1 1 






The snobbishness of the provinces is un- 
speakable j people round about — the villagers 3 
the squires, the farmers who now sent miles, 
at great inconvenience, for other doctors- 
would hear of his curing the lord of the manor j 
and would call him in on the first pretext. 

Digitized by LiOOQlC 

provided he could hold on and wait. He 
could hold on. His position was still desperate, 
but his credit was enhanced a hundredfold 
by the happenings of to-day. He could 
marry Iiabette— ah, no, thai was impossible. 
It was too clear from her mother's letter that 




she no longer loved him, and that she cared 
for another man. 

Babette ! He was not bitter, but he could 
not help smiling rather cynically ; she loved 
the rich ; she adored the nobility — though 
necessarily at a distance — like so many 
boarding-house people ; the Bonfields would 
have called on her : doubtless would have 
asked her to the Court. A sudden thought 
struck him. He wondered how she and Miss 
Bonfield would have got on together. Miss 
Bonfield ! What a charming, healthy, typi- 
cally English girl. 

He took tea — it seemed unusually refresh- 
ing. He looked up gastritis idly, assuring 
himself that the attack was but a slight 
one, due merely to the effect upon a man who 
had lived in hotter climates of this bitter and 
abominable wind. Surgery hours came. He 
smiled and told himself that soon at this hour 
of the evening there would be twenty patients 
in place of a possible two. 

About eight he sauntered out and crossed 
the road and walked up the drive beneath 
those full- leaved blossoming chestnut trees 
whose forms were cast by the declining sun- 
shine in emerald shadows on the grass. He 
was admitted by the butler — whom he feared 
no longer. Miss Bonfield descended. She 
was wearing an apron over a simple linen 

" Will you come upstairs ? " she said. 
" My father has slept a little. But he is 
still feverish and in considerable pain." 

She led the way Jthrough the great hall that 
was hung with tapestry, up the carved-oak 
easy-falling staircase ; at the top was a 
long corridor with deep-recessed and oak- 
panelled doors. She opened one of them ; the 
room within was in all respects the opposite 
of what unconsciously Basil had expected to 
see. The furniture, though decorative, was 
modern ; everything was of to-day. The 
Ambassador lay in a camp, and not a four- 
post, bedstead. He gave the doctor the 
veriest ghost of a smile. 

Basil made a fresh examination which 
confirmed his first diagnosis ; the pulse and 
temperature were not appreciably altered. 
He handed Miss Bonfield a box of zymine, 
sulphur-coloured, peptonizing tubes and gave 
her certain instructions which it seemed that 
she quite understood. She accompanied him 
downstairs again. In the hall she paused at 
the front door. 

" You're quite satisfied with me ? " she 
said. " I'm doing all you wish." 

" Of course you are. I beg your pardon 
for suggesting sending for a nurse. 

by Google 

She laughed her gratitude. She was so 
young, so charming, so intelligent ; she found 
him interesting, as all women find especially 
interesting the man who is their superior in 
knowledge of the subject which they most 
affect. It seemed as if she wished to go on 
talking, and had no disposition to bring the 
interview to an end. 

" You like nursing, then ? " he said, 

" Oh, yes. I'm intensely interested in 
medicine, though I don't think I should care 
to be a doctor ; I think perhaps it's the 
human side that I prefer. What a lot of 
dramatic things you must see ! " 

He nodded, and was conscious of his own 
drama ; the letter from Babette that morning, 
his despair, the sudden summons, the amazing 
topsy-turvydom of the day. And, thinking 
this, he was conscious, more than ever, 
of the pleasure which this charming girl's 
presence gave him ; it was impossible not 
to see her superiority to Babette. Afraid of 
showing her how she attracted him, timid of 
being unprofessional, he tore himself away. 

" I must go ! '' he said. " In the morning 
I will come again." 

He went out. The sun had set ; darkness 
was imminent; the quiet quickened his 
thoughts. He continued to think of Miss 
Bonfield ; he was still thinking of her when 
he fell asleep, an hour later, to enjoy eight 
hours of dreamless slumber — the first 
thorough and untroubled night's rest he had 
known for nearly two years. 

In the morning he revisited the Court after 
breakfast. The Ambassador was no better ; 
the pulse was yet faster and the temperature 
a point more high. He gave some fresh in- 
structions, chatted with Miss Bonfield — her 
brother had returned to his regiment — and 
walked home across the park. But he 
thought less of her and more of the patient, 
for the first excitement of his good fortune 
had abated; the inevitable reaction was upon 
him ; underfed for so long, he lacked confi- 
dence, and was su Bering from " the grand 
enemy, neurasthenia — doubt/" And he began 
to ask himself whether he had diagnosed the 
case aright. 

In the evening possibly his nervousness 
showed itself ; there was more reason for it, 
since the Ambassador was suffering consider- 
ably, and the temperature had risen another 
half point. Miss Bonfield accompanied him 

"What do you think?" she asked, 
suddenly. " Is my father very bad ? " 

" I— I think it's nothing very serious. 
Original fronn 



The pain will cease before long, and the 
temperature will come right down." 

" But are you sure ? Is it only gastritis ? 
Mightn't it be something worse ? " 

He started. She had uttered his innermost 
thought. She saw him start. His reply 
shook her shaking faith still more. 

" Yes — I think so. I don't see how it 
can be anything else." 

There was a pause. Her eyes still showed 
him sympathy, but there was more than the 
beginning of doubt in them ; the faith which 
the luck of being called in had implanted — 
and which her youth and vitality had stimu- 
lated — now fast left him ; increasingly he 
mistrusted himself. Very lamely, feebly even, 
he repeated, " I don't see how it can possibly 
be anything else." 

He went home, but not happily ; he con- 
sulted books, searched for records of symp- 
toms, considered treatments, torturing him- 
self as to what it would be best to do. In 
any other circumstances he would eagerly 
have sought a second opinion, but in this 
case it would be ruin to himself. He must 
carry through and get the credit, not divide 
it with any other man. 

And he would carry it through ; his doubt 
was quite preposterous ; there was nothing 
the matter but ordinary gastritis, which was 
taking its normal course. He had allowed 
himself to be worried — " rattled " was the 
slang expression. No, he had nothing to fear. 

Yet he did fear, strangely and unaccount- 
ably. That night he slept but ill. In the 
morning he crossed the park again ; he was 
shown up to his patient's room. Miss Bon- 
field greeted him. But with a definite change 
in her manner. Her father had had a 
disturbed and painful night. Once more she 
accompanied Basil downstairs. 

" Are you quite sure it is only gastritis ? " 
she urged. " Last night you seemed to fear 
it was something else." 

" I am certain it is gastritis " — the secret 
effort which Basil made to conquer his own 
doubts again made his voice and manner most 
emphatic. " The temperature is high, I grant 
you. But, believe me, it will suddenly fall." 

She seemed convinced. They parted. It 
so happened that, though he still worried 
greatly, he had no time to sit and think 
that day. His motor-cycle was broken. He 
had to ride an ordinary machine many miles 
to see the wife of a cottager whom he could 
not refuse to visit — and by whom, probably, 
he would never be paid. 

In the evening he called at the Court. 
The pain had diminished considerably ; the 

Vol liiL-11. 

patient showed no remarkable weakness, 
but the temperature had risen to the alarming 
figure of a hundred and four. As he examined 
the thermometer he met the eyes of Miss 
Bonfield across the bed. She signed to him to 
speak to her. They went outside the room. 
She seemed all kindliness and womanliness, 
and, not for the first time, there came to 
Basil the thought and knowledge of what a 
woman she would be for a wife. 

" Dr. Carrow," she said, " I am exceed- 
ingly anxious about my father, and your 
manner last night and this morning convinced 
me that you, too, had doubts ; so in the 
circumstances I have taken upon myself to 
telephone to Sir James Ferguson at Birming- 
ham. I thought you would feel happier if a 
stranger, and not a Belboro doctor, were called 
in. Sir James is occupied till ten ; he will 
come by car and arrive about eleven, and will 
remain here for the night. He wants you 
to meet him at eight o'clock to-morrow 
morning, as he has to be back in Birmingham 
at halt-past nine." 

There was an awful silence. Basil looked at 
her shakenly ; she could read the dismay in 
his eyes. Her glance softened ; he compelled 
her compassion ; something in him — was it 
a certain spiritual fineness, an evident 
physical weakness, or both these things to- 
gether ? — appealed to the mothering instinct 
which is in every true woman ; but she could 
not keep a certain reproof from her voice. 

" Please God it is only gastritis, Dr. 
Carrow ! " she said. " Though I fear that- 
like myself— you fear that you have wrongly 
diagnosed the illness and that it is something 
far more grave." 

She turned away abruptly, as if she felt 
the situation more than she cared to let him 
see. He went out, miserably. In his weak 
physical condition, and coming on top of his 
prolonged struggle, her mistrust finished him. 
He no longer believed in himself. 

Again he got out his books ; again he con- 
sulted them, asking himself with anguish 
whether the illness could be peritonitis, or 
the beginning of something worse. He had 
made some mistake. He had had his chance 
and lost it. Sir James Ferguson would never 
forgive him for not calling in another doctor 
earlier in the case. The position meant ruin — 
infinitely greater than the ruin of three days 
back. If Lord Bonfield died, the stigma of 
this error would cling to him all his life. 

He ate nothing. These last two days he 
had been more sensible ; but now his old 
distaste returned to him ; he spent the night, 
the small hours, the earlly morning, in making 







up his accounts. Twice, even, he went into 
his surgery and opened a certain cupboard 
where bottles of poisons used in small quanti- 
ties for medicines were kept. He looked at 
them with a feeling of fascination, yet re- 
frained from them. There would be time — 
too much time — when he had seen Sir James 
Ferguson and heard the worst. 

Seen him ! Could he see him ? Could he 
bear to be humiliated before that charming 
woman whose voice, manner, and personality 
had so stimulated and almost mesmerized 
him ? It would make the cup of anguish 
doubly, trebly fierce. Weary, exhausted, his 
eyes sore, his limbs aching, he threw himself 
on his bed. 

He slept for ninety minutes and awoke at 
seven ; the sun was shining, but delusively ; 
its force made negligible by the bitter and 
abominable wind. He felt like a prisoner 
who arouses himself for his own execution ; 
wretchedly he crossed the park. A large 
car, bearing the Birmingham registration 
mark, was already before the steps. 

The door was opened by the butler. Pro- 
bably he looked at the caller no differently from 
usual, but Basil felt his old mistrust of, and 
dislike to, the man return. He was shown 
into a room which was new to him. A table 
was laid. It was bright with silver and 
dishes ; a pleasant fire burned in the grate. 
At one end of the table sat Miss Bonfield, 
looking tired but very beautiful. At the 
other end was a big man with a square head, 
a square jaw, large hands, and an iron-grey 
moustache. They had finished breakfast ; 
and he was smoking a cigarette. She seemed 
listening eagerly to what he said. 

Both rose as Basil entered. Sir James 
Ferguson extended his hand. He looked at 
the general practitioner measuringly, summed 
up his condition — perhaps Miss Bonfield had 
told him ! — and spoke very kindly in a great, 
yet exceedingly low, voice. 

" Good morning, doctor," he said. " I am 
glad to have seen you. Not that there is 
anything to be said. Continue with the 
treatment. You can soon prescribe solids ; 
the patient is doing very well." 

He turned away a moment, shook hands 
with Basil, and hastened out of the breakfast- 
room, evidently in an immense hurry to get 
into his car. The door closed on him, dis- 
couraging Miss Bonfield from following ; she 
put her fingers on the handle ; then glanced 
round. Basil was staring at her. He had 
not had breakfast ; he was not only uncom- 
prehending, but dazed, bewildered, and faint. 

She smiled. It was a smile of grea* 

kindness, but in it was infinite shame. 
" Dr. Carrow," she said, " I beg your 
pardon. I beg it with all my heart ! " 

He stared yet harder. She smiled again, 
ever so kindly : words fought up from his 
throat somehow and stumbled past the 
threshold of his lips. 

" I was right, then," he said, faintly. 
" Your fathers illness is not dangerous. My 
diagnosis was correct." 

44 Yes, you were perfectly right. An hour 
after you left last night his temperature 
came down with a run. It was only a hundred 
when Sir James got here. It had become 
normal at dawn. I ought never to have 
hurt you. I need never have sent for him — 
as you see." 

She finished her confession breathlessly. 
Basil, looking at her, tried ever so hard to 
smile. The result was curious ; his breath 
came difficultly ; and tears welled up in his 
eyes. His ears heard a sudden singing. A 
kind of numbness overtook him ; he stag- 
gered, recovered himself, staggered a second 
time — and was conscious of nothing more. 

He awoke — to find his face wet, the butler 
present, a woman's face bent closely over his 
own. He had a second of ecstasy and then 
a hideous fear. He knew that he had fainted ; 
he believed that he was now in bed, and that 
the butler, who must have undressed him, 
had seen his unmended clothes. He closed 
his eyes, and got strength from closing them, 
and, stronger, opened them again. He knew 
then that he was lying, fully dressed, on the 
hearthrug in the breakfast-room ; and a soft 
voice whispered in his ear :— 

" Oh, I'm so dreadfully sorry ! I beg your 
pardon. I thought you were ill, but I didn't 
realize how bad. I shall never, never forgive 
myself for doubting you as I did ! " 

Dr. Basil Carrow no longer practises 
at Ambersdale, where he spent three fnore 
years with profit and great happiness ; he 
has a house now in Wimpole Street, and is 
a fashionable physician ; his patients find 
him human and sympathetic, and he has 
a wonderful knowledge of nerves. He is 
generally reputed lucky ; but this is doubtless 
due to that curious jealousy which gives men 
the credit of everything but of succeeding by 
their own sheer merit and through unswerving 
sacrifice and toil. It is true, however, that 
his wife has assisted him greatly, though she 
never interferes with his work. She is the 
daughter of the ex-Ambassador, Lord Bonfield; 
and her large social connection has helped 
greatly to farm her husband's clientele. 






VERY man in political life has 
two personalities — his own 
and the personality attributed 
to him hy the admiration 
of friends and the hostility of 
Joes, So also it is with Mr. 
I Jo yd George ; indeed, in 
idnifnt a *pe< decree he has had the good 
or hurl (orlune of being equally misunder- 
stood by bolh friend and foe. Jt k partly 
|iHiui*e lie bus been in the forefront of some 
fil the htfi t -*i roritrrjversies of our public 
Ilk ; il i* |nirt I y his personal temperament, 
Aim! even in Him respeel there is in his ease 

one of the many paradoxes of political life. 
No man has more public enemies ; no man 
has fewer private enemies. In his room in 
the House of Commons, even durinir the 
hottest times, you were as likely to find a 
Tory carrying on a friendly conversation o% T er 
a cup of tea as a Radical, When he is in a 
public fight no public man shrinks less from 
the language of vehemence, sometimes even 
of something like truculence.* He has been 
in such moments what the French call archi- 
personal. Yet his vehemence did not spring 
from personal feeling; he is singularly free from 
personal feeli^JQiFOTfePBfcarfl htm denounce 


r i- 



the personal feeling as one of the most vicious 
and reacting factors of public life. " If 
ever," he added, " I find myself tempted to 
yield to personal feeling I crush it down with 
an iron heel/' But he knows his democracy, 
especially his English democracy ; and he 
learned long ago that if you want to appeal 
to the masses, you must rush to the concrete 
and the personal. The Welsh Disestablish- 
ment Bill was making its way through a 
supine and apathetic House of Commons 
while the orators on both sides were dis- 
cussing such abstract questions as the rela- 
tions between Church and State, the right 
to devote funds to public uses as against the 
crime of robbing God, etc., etc. The debates 
livened up, and the interest of the Gallio-like 
multitudes — who have ceased to interest them- 
selves in religious struggles, one of the portents 
of the time — began to reveal itself when 
Mr. Lloyd George addressed the members of 
the old families as having their hands 
dripping with the fat of sacrilege. From 
that time forward the Welsh Bill began to 
excite some attention outside the narrow 
frontiers of Welsh Nonconformity. 

What is this man really — in, so to speak, 
the nudity of his soul — as to whom estimates 
vary so much ? Is he an apostle with a 
mission, or is he simply an ambitious egotist 
eager only for his own glory and for his own 
advancement ? If you ask keen judges of 
character in the House of Commons that 
question, you find answers that differ widely, 
'i here are men there, and of his own views in 
general, who speak of him with bitterness as 
great as that of the Tory in the days when 
he was carrying through a revolutionary 
Budget. This bitterness was aggravated to 
the extreme point during the days which 
covered the final struggle between him and 
Mr. Asquith for the Premiership. In the 
discussions of that painful period the two 
menwho remained least affected by personal 
feeling were, curiously enough, Mr. Asquith 
and Mr. Lloyd George themselves. Mr. 
Lloyd George insisted to the last that he did 
not want to interfere with Mr. Asquith as 
Premier ; and similarly Mr. Asquith has 
declined to bring the struggle down to a 
personal issue between two men. But let 
all that pass. No sane man in the midst of 
a crisis affecting the whole fate of the Empire 
and of European liberty and civilization has 
either time or patience to discuss merely 
personal issues. 

Let me try to analyse the character of 
Mr. Lloyd George as it presents itself to my 
judgment ; and to my judgment not blinded 

by partisanship or personal feeling. I feel 
the times too serious to have either personal 
or partisan feeling. I begin with his begin- 
nings as indications of his inner life. And 
first I take the little incident which is recorded 
in all his biographies ; namely, his proposal to 
his little sister that he and she should put 
gravel under the gate leading to the forlorn 
and broken home when the auctioneer came 
to disperse the contents gathered together 
by the nomad and unsuccessful school- 
master who was Lloyd George's father, and 
who at that moment lay dead amid the wreck 
of his own life and that of his wife and 
children. There was something weird in this 
precocity — weird, and at the same time 
symbolical and prophetic. In that incident, 
indeed, I see the forecast of much of the future 
of the man ; in a special sense that child of 
two years was the father of the man we know 
as Prime Minister of the British Empire at 
fifty-three. What were the qualities thus 
vaguely shadowed forth ? 

First, the spirit of the rebel against in- 
justice ; secondly, the blindness to danger ; 
and thirdly, the tenacity that never knows 
what are the odds against the fight, and 
never doubts that the fight should go on — 
never doubts that the fight must end in 

Examine his career in the light of this 
earliest revelation of the character, and it 
will strike you that you have found the clue. 
It is an extraordinarily consistent career in 
many respects. I remember him when first 
he came into the House of Commons — a thin 
youth with, if I remember rightly, short 
mutton-chop whiskers, a thin face, a slight 
figure — altogether undistinguished in appear- 
ance and manner. He had Hkd already his 
local renown, for he had led a mob to break 
down the wall of a churchyard to vindicate 
the right of the Nonconformist dead to find 
a place in the burial ground. of the parish. 
He had also joined the late Mr. Ellis in 
starting something like a National Welsh 
Party to replace with young and ardent 
Welshmen the dull-witted and tame gentle- 
men of wealth in estate or business who then 
commanded the representation of Wales. 
But he might well have passed for the " great 
man of the provinces " who figures in so 
many French satires. Indeed, that was a 
little how he regarded himself. 

His first years in the House of Commons 
were years of discouragement and of self- 
deprecation. He did not like the place ; 
he did not think himself that the place would 
ever like him. Still unconscious of his gifts, 




ftrnrt MnnnfJ. 



"'OrftffriSl from 


fresh from 
Welsh audi- 
ences whom 
Ins larifiua^e, 
spoken in the 
tongue of 
Wales, could 
rouse to 
Celtic en thu- 
siasmSj he 
looked upon 
imself as an 
agitator and a 
prophet for 
whom the 
prosaic and 
business-] i ke 
atmosphere of 
the House of 
C o m m o n s 
w o u 1 fl never 
be healthy and 
welcome. He 
s j) o k e but 
seldom; he 
u 1 d have 


J 59 

By a lucky chance Mr. Llovd 

George, as a young solicitor's 

pprentice ; had taken his part 

n fighting a big rating case. 

His memory is marvellously 


conversation, a 

scene, a story told to him years 

before > he can repeat verbatim* 

And the knowledge he had got 

as a youngster came all back 

to him ; he found himself able to 

descend from lofty popular and 

platform appeal to hard business 

details. The business details 

enabled him to prolong a fierce 

and obstructive struggle for 

weeks. At the end of the time 

the House of 

Commons had 

found Mr. Lloyd 

George and Mr. 

LI 1 1 yd George 

had found 


spoken even seldomei if it had not been for that 
venerable old uncle who has been more than father to 
him, between whom and himself a letter passes daily. 
For the old man had an art of gentle and allusive 
encouragement and reproach. He had seen, the old 
man would write ? the names of this Welsh member or 
of that in the reports of the debates ; but he had not seen 
the name of his nephew, And then Mr, Lloyd George 
would get over his discouragement and his disinclination to 
speak, and his name would he^in to reappear in the Parlia- 
mentary reports. 

Here you have one indication of character which is 
forgotten in the midst of the feverish energy imposed upon 
him by his prominent place in politics, There is a certain 
Celtic passivity amid all the volcanic energy. He is largely 
the creation of conditions and of their pressure upon him. 
I don't think he set out on his great career with any very 
definite personal purpose. But at the right moment 
something happened ; and he rushed to the occasion — 
because there is fire as well as passivity in the temperament. 
It was the pressure of certain conditions, for instance, that 
first got him the attention of the House of Commons ; and 
that overcame his strong disinclination to try and take a 
share in its life. The Ministry of Mr. Balfour introduced a 
Rating Bill which was supposed by the Welsh Nonconformists 
to be in the interest of the hated Anglican squirearchy. 


. Vmtrnt jYni*. 

But to go back to that early 
pitient in his career which I 
l PniPii iHupinatin", he had 




displayed those qualities of revolt, of 
tenacity, of blindness to consequences and 
certainty of victory before he settled down 
to the daily work of the House. He had 
dared to stand alone, even when he was 
an undistinguished-looking, unknown, and 
abashed youngster, against the great powers 
and potentates of his own party. Do not 
look on the things I have said about his 
passivity and self-deprecation as inconsistent 
with the audacious self-assertion. These 
apparent opposites are often found in the 
character of men, and especially of politicians. 
Disraeli was often painfully shy in private 
life — he assumed his sphinx-like silence as a 
mask to conceal his shyness in private and 
his supersensitiveness in public. And yet 
the man who dragged down Peel in a series 
of audacious attacks must have had extra- 
ordinary courage. So also is it with Mr, 
Lloyd George. He can be the most audacious, 
but he can also be the shyest of men. I have 
seen him quite disturbed when he found a 
curious crowd watching him as he drove off 
a ball from the first tee at the golf-course in 
Dieppe. I have heard him say as he found 
himself in a restaurant in Paris what a relief 
it was to him to find himself where nobody 
knew him, and he could feel secure that 
nobody was scowling at him as the author of 
all evil. And yet I saw him threaten Mr. 
Asquith as Home Secretary with a political 
crisis in the midst of a Welsh Disestablish- 
ment Bill ; and I have watched him resist 
every smile and the strongest convictions 
of the great Gladstone when the one was 
almost already a legendary figure of history 
and he was but an obscure youngster. He 
insisted on putting the gravel under the 

K ate - 
Somehow or other, in spite of his reticence 

during these early years, the vigilant critics 
of the House came to feel that a disturbing 
new force had entered the Chamber. In 
those days, however, he got credit more for 
restlessness than for ability. 

The real test of that iron strength, and even 
now and then iron hardness, which are the 
foundations of Mr. Lloyd George's character, 
came with the Boer War. I have nothing to 
do in a personal sketch with the right or the 
wrong of the positions Mr. Lloyd George 
took up on the Boer or any other question ; 
it is the man's demeanour, it is the revela- 
tion of the man's character that engage my 
attention for the moment. I have never 
seen so strangely reckless and courageous 
a course as his during that time of trial. I 
remember one night in particular in the House 

* o 

of Commons. We had gone through very 
dark hours ; the future seemed uncertain, 
but there was the inner convictidn that we 
must ultimately win. 

In the midst of this audience, angry, 
impatient, insulted, and humiliated by the 
defiance of two small Republics, Mr. Lloyd 
George poured forth a speech of fiercely 
aggravating scepticism. He had got up all 
his facts — even then he showed his uncanny 
power of probing military situations — and he 
pointed out the reverses, the difficulties, the 
insurmountable obstacles that stood between 
the great Empire and the puny Republics. 
Positively as I heard him and looked at the 
benches opposite to which he addressed this 
tremendous provocation, I felt as if my blood 
ran cold. I was not deceived as to the 
frightful animosities such a speech aroused 
by the strange fact that the wondrous self- 
control, which is so English, kept all that 
seething audience in cold and unbroken 
silence. When Mr. Balfour uttered his 
first word of rebuke the pent-up passion 
showed itself with volcanic fury; and 
then I knew I had been right ; never had 
man so defied a House of Commons. I 
spoke to Mr. Gully, then Speaker of the 
House, shortly afterwards ; he told me his 
feelings — they were the same as my own. I 
have never known such a defiance of opinion. 
I pass by the other episodes of that stormy 
and sad period ; the invasion of Birming- 
ham and his escape from a mob of one 
hundred thousand people ready to lynch him, 
and many other untold episodes in his 
journeyings up and down the country. The 
speech in the House of Commons seemed to 
me bolder than any of these things, courageous 
as his meeting of them was. And yet I have 
no reason to doubt that during all that 
period Mr. Lloyd George never lost a night's 
rest. He came out of the fiercest fight with 
a face whose smile betrayed no trace of 
inner perturbation. He told me once that 
he was always unhappy while he was making 
up his mind as to any course he was going to 
follow ; but when he had come to his resolve, 
all unhappiness disappeared. He was joyful 
again and started out on the road, however 
dark or dangerous, without even contem- 
plating the possibility of turning back till 
he had got to the end. Sometimes, indeed, 
his curious personality seemed to suggest 
that when he had made up his mind to a 
course — even when he had hesitated a long 
time before, and he often hesitates before 
great decisions — he set in motion some 
machine in his nature which went on for 




ever after independently of his 
will- It was fateful, indepen- 
dent, automatic, so to speak ; 
he had set the purpose going, 
and then he became a passive 
and sometimes an interested 
and curious observer of 
how that thing belonging 

men. And 1 think his personal feeling 
was ready for compromises to spare 
men's feelings, and especially those of 
men for whom he had such respect 
as for some of his colleagues. I don't 
think he contemplated a complete 

break-up when he started ; 

when it had to come he 

I if 1 1 rmi! Ntwu 

to him and yet strange to him went its 
own way. This explains to me the obser- 
vation he once made, that sometimes 
he hated to give up a thing so much that he 
feared and doubted his own temperament ; 
which meant that the temperament con- 
trolled him. It was again— to go back lo 
my early illustration — the impulse that 
thought the gravel under the gate would 
stop the omnipotent hand of the law and 
the irresistible entrance of the auctioneer* 

Here , then, we have a man who has what 
Napoleon used to call the " two o'clock in 
the morning courage," He never seriously 
counts consequences once the period of 
gestation is over. You see that quality just 
as much in the recent upheaval as in leaser 
episodes of his life. For who but such a 
man could confront so terrible a situation 
as the hreak-up of a great Ministry in the 
midst of an unparalleled war and almost 
cheerfully and hopefully take on the leader- 
ship of a nation and the conduct of a 
war in an hour of dark and even unreason- 
ing depression? I know that before he 
took this great and fearsome resolve he had 
days, weeks of painful uncertainty. He was 
ready, eager to discuss the tremendous 
problem with his friends ; he was uncertain, 
troubled, even vacillating- Do not run away 
with the idea that this strong man, strong 
and unbreakable as chilled steel, is on the 
rigid lines of melodramatic character. He has 
his strong human emotions ; he is anxious, 
if he could, to be on friendly terms with all 

accepted it and he carried it through. But 
he is not a cold- blooded and a calculating 
man who walks over the dead bodies of rivals 
and opponents. Human nature is rarely 
built that way. Such rigidity belongs to 
metals, and not to men. 

The Lloyd George of private life is very 
little like the Lloyd George of the House of 
Commons or the platform. He has tremen- 
dous self-confidence ; no man could have 
taken up the Premiership without such a 
quality developed to a remarkable degree. 
Hut he never has shown the least sign of what 
is popularly called the swelled head. The 
first and lasting* impression you form of him 
when you meet him in private life is his 
simplicity, his utter absence of what is called 
side. He must find some enjoyment in the 
glories he has conquered, for he is human ; 
but I doubt if it has ever seriously changed 
his own estimate of himself. He was brought 
up in a somewhat mystical creed ; he has 
many ideas whose mysticism strike you as 
strange in one so realistic in so much of his 
outlook ; and the mystic has always some 
saving sense of the transience of human 
things which stands between him and exces- 
sive enjoyment of the triumphs of life. There 
is simplicity in all his tastes and in all his 
surroundings. He is quite indifferent to the 
pleasures of the table- I doubt if he knows 
much what he is eating ; he certainly could 
not say whether it were well or ill-cooked. 
He is not a teetotaller, but he rarely touches 

wtae 'ui'fefrMVMffln loBg *"" rald 



motor tours with him, especially in France, 
he always asked for hot coffee, swallowing it 
with a meat dish, a dreadful trial to most 
digestions, but apparently innocuous to his. 
He does not know one card from another ; 
he has no amusements except an occasional 
game of golf; his one self-indulgence is a 
cigar, though he usually prefers the simple 
pipe. His love of everything Welsh is seen 
in his home surroundings. You rarely find 
any domestic in his household except a 
Welsh girl, with whom he always speaks in 
Welsh, a language that seems to suit the 
softness of the Welsh girl's expression. 

For society he has no love ; it bores him 
rather. If he wants an enjoyable evening 
he gathers his friends around him, and he 
can spend an evening listening even more 
willingly than talking. He does, however 
love the theatre ; he loves the music-hall. 
If he had time he would go there often. 
This is perhaps partly the revolt from the 
narrow teachings of his earliest youth. 
Once Sir Herbert Tree asked him, at my 
suggestion, to a first night and then to the 
supper afterwards. As he walked home with 
his wife in the full light of a summer morning 
through St. James's Park to Downing Street 
he said to her, " Would you and I have ever 
thought ten years ago that we would have 
gone to a theatrical supper and enjoyed it ? " 
He told me the story himself. It was a 
revelation of the curious simplicity of the 
village lad that lay underneath all the varied 
experiences of London life. There is nothing 
too absurd in certain songs from the an- 
thology of the music-hall which does not 
delight him ; sometimes, when he is in 
especially good spirits, he sings some snatches 
with great enjoyment ; generally he has 
learned them from one of his daughters. 

That brings me to another thing which 
always comes out when you see him at 
home, and that is his intense family affection. 
No villager in Wales could unlock his door to 
the outside view and show a simpler family 
setting than that amid which Mr. Lloyd 
George lives when he is at home. One 
evening I came into a room and asked where 
was the " hyena " — it was the name applied to 
him by a German journal after his famous 
" knock-out" interview. I found the "hyena" 
seated on a sofa with an arm around the waist 
of each of his two daughters. I dare but 
mention the agony through which he passed 
when another daughter died. I don't think, 
even with all his natural cheeriness of temper, 
he has ever looked quite cheerfully at life 
since. The greater softness of temper,, the 

unusual patience, the mysticism of his inner 
soul, are perhaps some of the consequences of 
that great blow. 

He cares for little in life in reality except 
politics. He keeps all his strength for his 
political life. This is one of the reasons for 
what would otherwise appear to be incon- 
siderate casualness. He gets innumerable 
letters ; he answers but few of them ; often 
he does not answer enough of them, but he 
is so engaged in big things that he will not 
allow himself to fritter time in the unessential 
things. He can be soft and yielding up to a 
point. There is never anything of the 
*' brutal " — an epithet applied to him by 
another German paper recently — in either 
his words or his demeanour. I have seen 
him quite disturbed because he could not 
get rid of somebody that was rather in the 
way ; but he will not allow himself to be 
bothered or diverted from his work by the 
great lady or the great host ; life is too short 
and too full of big things to have time wasted. 

One of his extraordinary tastes — at least 
to me — is his passionate love of a sermon. 
He told me once that he preferred going to a 
chapel to hear a good sermon than to go to 
even a good play. He quotes by the yard 
great passages from the extensive pulpit 
literature of his country. Over and over 
again I have heard him roll out the great 
phrase of the Preacher denouncing the rich 
who grind the faces of the poor. " The wood 
is drying in the sun that will make their 
coffins." He is a great reader; though -he 
hesitates to speak French, he knows French 
very well, and reads a good French novel 
with pleasure and quite easily. 

Take him for all in all, he has more than 
the usual complexity of the Celtic character. 
He is often unwilling to begin work ; but, 
once he begins, he finds it difficult ever to 
give up. He can work immensely, but he gets 
very tired ; but then he can sleep anywhere 
and at all times. He is ordinarily cheerful and 
more equable as years have gone on, but he 
has moments of depression ; and in some of 
his early years he was said to be haunted by 
the vision of early death, like that of his 
father. He is very soft ; he can be very 
hard. He is the most pliant and the most 
obstinate of men ; he can be broad of vision, 
and under the strong and tenacious will he 
can put his mind in blinkers ; he has weird 
insight as of a prophet ; he never looks back ; 
he is confident of the future. Such is the 
man in whose hands our lives and fortunes 
are now placed. If he cannot win for us, 
no man can.-Tigir 






Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood. 


Lord Dawlish, the possessor of a moneyless title, has made up his mind to try his luck in America, when 
he is astonished to learn that a wealthy American friend, Ira J. Nutcombe, has died and left him his 
entire fortune, disowning his nephew and niece, his only relatives. Being a "good sort," and disliking 
the idea of accepting a fortune on these terms. Lord Dawlish decides to visit the rightful heirs — Elizabeth 
and Nutcombe Boyd — with the idea of inducing them to share the money with him. So he sets out for 
America, not knowing that his fiancee, Claire Fenwick, an actress, is also en route for New York, on a 
brief visit to Lady Wetherby, an old theatrical acquaintance. On the journey over, Claire becomes very 
friendly with Dudley Pickering, a rich motor-car manufacturer. 

Gates, an American friend, lends Lord Dawlish his flat in New York, and, acting on his advice, he drops 
his title and passes by the name of Chalmers. He has not been long in New York before he meets 
Elizabeth Boyd's brother, Nutcombe, who, of course, has no idea of his identity. 


T had been a great night for 
Nutty Boyd. If the vision of 
his sister Elizabeth, at home at 
the farm speculating sadly on 
the whereabouts of her wander- 
ing boy, ever came before his 
mental eye he certainly did not 
allow it to interfere with his ap- 
preciation of the festivities. At Frolics in the Air, 
whither they moved after draining Reigelheimer's 
of what joys it had to offer, and at Peale's, where 
they went after wearying of Frolics in the Air, 
he was in the highest spirits. It was only 
occasionally that the recollection came to vex 
him that this could not last, that — since his 
Uncle Ira had played him false — he must return 
anon to the place whence he had come. 

Why, in a city of all-night restaurants, these 
parties ever break up one cannot say, but a 
merciful Providence sees to it that they do, and 
just as Lord Dawlish was contemplating an 
eternity of the company of Nutty and his two 
companions, the end came. Miss Leonard said 
that she was tired. Her friend said that it was 
a shame to go home at dusk like this, but, if 
the party was going to be broken up, she sup- 
posed there was nothing else for it. Bill was too 
sleepy to say anything. 

The Good Sport lived round the corner, and 
only required Lord Dawlish's escort for a couple 
of hundred yards. But Miss Leonard's hotel 
was in the neighbourhood of Washington Square, 
and it was Nutty's pleasing task to drive her 

thither. Engaged thus, he received a shock that 
electrified him. 

" That pal of yours," said Miss Leonard, 
drowsily — she was half-asleep — " what did you 
say his name was ? " 

" Chalmers, he told me. I only met him 
to-night. 1 ' 

" Well, it isn't ; it's something else. It " — 
Miss Leonard yawned — " it's Lord something." 

" How do you mean, ' Lord something ' ? " 

" He's a lord— at least, he was when I met 
him in London." 

" Are you sure you met him in London ? " 

" Of course I'm sure. He was at that supper 
Captain Delaney gave at Oddy's. There can't 
be two men in England who dance like that ! " 

The recollection of Bill's performance stimu- 
lated Miss Leonard into a temporary wakeful- 
ness, and she giggled. 

" He danced just the same way that night 
in London. I wish I could remember his name. 
I almost had it a dozen times to-night. It's 
something with a window in it." 

" A window ? " Nutty's brain was a little 
fatigued and he felt himself unequal to grasping 
this. " How do you mean, a window ? " 

" No, not a window — a door ! I knew it was 
something about a house. I know now, his 
name's Lord Dawlish." 

Nutty's fatigue fell from him like a garment. 

" It can't be ! " 

" It is." 

Miss Leonard's eye? had closed and she spoke 


i6 4 


" Are you sure ? " 

" Mra-mm." 

" By gad ! " 

Nutty was wide awake now and full of in- 
quiries ; but his companion unfortunately was 
asleep, and he" could not put them to her. A 
gentleman cannot prod a lady — and his guest, 
at that — in the ribs in order to wake her up and 
ask her questions. Nutty sat back and gave 
himself up to feverish thought. 

He could think of no reason why Lord Dawlish 
should have come to America calling himself 
William Chalmers, but that was no reason why 
he should not have done so. And Daisy Leonard, 
who all along had remembered meeting him in 
London, had identified him. 

Nutty was convinced. Arriving finally at 
Miss Leonard's hotel, he woke her up and saw 
her in at the doer ; then, telling the man to 
drive to the lodgings of his new friend, he urged 
his mind to rapid thought. He had decided as 
a first step in the following up of this matter to 
invite Bill down to Elizabeth's farm, and the 
thought occurred to him that this had better 
be done to-night, for he knew by experience 
that on the morning after these little jaunts he 
was seldom in the mood to seek people out and 
invite them to go anywhere. 

All the way to the flat he continued to think, 
and it was wonderful what possibilities there 
seemed to be in this little scheme of courting 
the society of the man who had robbed him of 
his inheritance. He had worked on Bills feelings 
so successfully as to elicit a loan of a million 
dollars, and was just proceeding to marry him 
to Elizabeth, when the cab stopped with the 
sudden sharpness peculiar to New York cabs, 
and he woke up, to find himself at his destination. 

Bill was in bed when the bell rang, and 
received his late host in his pyjamas, wondering, 
as he did so, whether this was the New York 
custom, to foregather again after a party had 
been broken up, and chat till breakfast. But 
Nutty, it seemed, had come with a motive, not 
from a desire for more conversation. 

" Sorry to disturb you, old man," said Nutty. 
" I looked in to tell you that I was going down 
to the country to-morrow. I wondered whether 
you would care to come and spend a day or two 
with us." 

Bill was delighted. This was better than he 
had hoped for. 

" Rather ! " he said. " Thanks awfully ! " 

" There are plenty of trains in the afternoon," 
said Nutty. " I don't suppose either of us will 
feel like getting up early. I'll call for you here 
at half-past six, and we'll have an early dinner 
and catch the seven-fifteen, shall we ? We live 
very simply, you know. You won't mind that ? " 

" My dear chap ! " 

" That's all right, then," said Nutty, closing 
the door. " Good night." 


Elizabeth entered Nutty 's room and, seating 
herself on the bed, surveyed him with a bright, 
quiet eye that drilled holes in her brother's 
uneasy conscience. This was her second visit 

to him that morning. She had come an hour 
ago, bearing breakfast on a tray, and had 
departed without saying a word. It was this 
uncanny silence of hers even more than the 
effects — which still lingered — of his revels in 
the metropolis that had interfered with Nutty's 
enjoyment of the morning meal. Never a hearty 
breakfaster, he had found himself under the 
influence of her wordless disapproval physically 
unable to consume the fried egg that confronted 
him. He had given it one look ; then, endorsing 
the opinion which he had once heard a character 
in a play utter in somewhat similar circum- 
stances — that there was nothing on earth so 
homely as an egg — he had covered it with a 
handkerchief and tried to pull himself round 
with hot tea. He was now smoking a sad 
cigarette and waiting for the blow to fall. 

Her silence had puzzled him. Though he had 
tried to give her no opportunity of getting him 
alone on the previous evening when he had 
arrived at the farm with Lord Dawlish, he had 
fully expected that she would have broken in 
upon him with abuse and recrimination in the 
middle of the night. Yet she had not done 
this, nor had she spoken to him when bringing 
him his breakfast. These things found their 
explanation in Elizabeth's character, with which 
Nutty, though he had known her so long, was 
but imperfectly acquainted. Elizabeth had never 
been angrier with her brother, but an innate 
goodness of heart had prevented her falling upon 
him before he had had rest and refreshment. 

She wanted to massacre him, but at the same 
time she told herself that the poor dear must 
be feeling very, very yi, and should have a 
reasonable respite before the slaughter com- 

It was plain that in her opinion this respite 
had now lasted long enough. She looked over 
her shoulder to make sure that she had closed 
the door, then leaned a little forward and spoke. 

" Now, Nutty ! " 

The wretched youth attempted bluster. 

" What do you mean — ' Now, Nutty ' ? 
What's the use of looking at a fellow like that 
and saying ' Now, Nutty ' ? Where's the 
sense " 

His voice trailed off. He was not a very 
intelligent young man, but even he could see 
that his was not a position where righteous 
indignation could be assumed with any solid 
chance of success. As a substitute he tried 

" Oo-oo, my head does ache ! " 

" I wish it would burst," said his sister, 

" That's a nice thing to nay to a fellow ! " 

" I'm sorry. I wouldn't have said it " 

" Oh. well ! " 

" Only I couldn't think of anything worse." 

It began to seem to Nutty that pathos was 
a bit of a failure too. As a last resort he fell 
back on silence. He wriggled as far down as 
he could beneath the sheets and breathed in a 
soft and wounded sort of way. Elizabeth took 
up the conversation, . r 

" Nutty," siie said, " I've struggled for years 




against the conviction that" 
you were a perfect idiot, I've 
forced myself, against my 
better judgment, to try to look 
on you as sane, but now I 
give in. I can't believe you 
are responsible for your actions, 
Don't imagine that I am going 
to heap you with reproaches 
because you sneaked off to 
New York. I'm not even 
going to tell you what 1 
thought of you for not sending 
me a telegram, letting me 
know where you were. I can 
understand all that. You were 
disappointed because Uncle Ira 
had not left you his money, 
and I suppose that was your 
way of working it off. If you 
had just run away and come 
back again with a headache. 
I'd have treated you like the 
Prodigal Son, But there are 
some things which are too 
much, and bringing a perfect 
stranger back with you for 
an indefinite period is one of 
them. I'm not saying any- 
thing against Mr, Chalmers 
personally. 1 haven't had 
time to nnd out much about 
him, except that he's an 
Englishman \ but he looks 
respectable. Which, as he's a 
friend of yours, is more or less 
of a miracle." 

She raised hn a eyebro\vs as 
a faint moan of protest came 
from beneath the sheets. 

You surely," she said* 
rt aren't going to suggest at 
this hour of the day. Nutty, 
that your friends aren't the 
most horrible set of pests Out- 
side a prison ? Not that it's 
likely after all these months 
that they are outside a prison* 
You know perfectly well that 
while you were running round 
New York you collected the 
most pernicious bunch of 
rogues that ever fastened their 
talons into a silly child who 
ought never to have been 
allowed out without his nurse/ 1 
After which complicated insult 
Elizabeth paused for breath, 
and there was silence for a 

HJ Well, as I was sayine,, I 
know nothing against this Mr P 
Chalmers. Probably his finger-prints 
the Rogues 1 Gallery; and he is better 
to the police as Jack the Blood, or 
thing, but he hasn't shown that side 
yet. My point is that, whoever he is, I 
want him or anybody else coming and 


are in 
of him 
do not 

up his abode here while I have to be cook and 
housemaid too. 1 object to having a stranger 
on the premises spying out the nakedness of 
the land*.-. I am . sensitive about my honest 
poverty, ^B^HBfimfc' Nuttv. my prrcious Nutty, 
you|J^E^+?^' e ^WI^HM^H wil1 > TOU kindly 



think up at your earliest convenience some plan 
for politely ejecting this Mr. Chalmers of yours 
from our humble home ? — because if you don't, 
I'm going to have a nervous breakdown." 

And, completely restored to good humour by 
her own eloquence, Elizabeth burst out laughing. 
It was a trait in her character which she had 
often lamented, that she could not succeed in 
keeping angry with anyone for more than a 
few minutes on end. Sooner or later some happy 
selection of a phrase of abuse would tickle her 
sense of humour, or the appearance of her 
victim would become too funny not to be laughed 
at. On the present occasion it was the ridiculous 
spectacle of Nutty cowering beneath the bed- 
clothes that caused her wrath to evaporate. 
She made a weak attempt to recover it. She 
glared at Nutty, who at the sound of her laughter 
had emerged from under the clothes like a worm 
after a thunderstorm. 

" I mean it," she said. " It really is too bad 
of you I You might have had some sense and 
a little consideration. Ask yourself if we are in 
a position here to entertain visitors. Well, I'm 
going to make myself very unpopular with this 
Mr. Chalmers of yours. By this evening he will 
be regarding me with utter loathing, for 1 am 
about to persecute him." 

" What do you mean ? " asked Nutty, 

" I am going to begin by asking him to help 
me open one of the hives." 

" For goodness' sake ! " 

" After that I shall — with his assistance — 
transfer some honey. And after that — well, 
1 don't suppose he will be alive by then. If he 
is, I shall make him wash the dishes for me. 
The least he can do, after swooping down on us 
like this, is to make himself useful." 

A cry of protest broke from the appalled 
Nutty, but Elizabeth did not hear it. She had 
left the room and was on her way downstairs. 

Lord Dawlish was smoking an after-breakfast 
cigar in the grounds. It was a beautiful day, 
and a peaceful happiness had come upon him. 
He told himself that he had made progress. He 
was under the same roof as the girl he had 
deprived of her inheritance, and it should be 
simple to establish such friendly relations as 
would enable him to reveal his identity and 
ask her to reconsider her refusal to relieve him 
of a just share of her uncle's money. He had 
seen Elizabeth for only a short time on the 
previous night, but he had taken an immediate 
liking to her. There was something about the 
American girl, he reflected, which seemed to put 
a man at his ease, a charm and directness all 
her own. Yes, he liked Elizabeth, and he liked 
this dwelling-place of hers. He was quite willing 
to stay on here indefinitely. 

Nature had done well by Flack's. The house 
itself was more pleasing to the eye than most of 
the houses in those parts, owing to the black 
and white paint which decorated it and an 
unconventional flattening and rounding of the 
roof. Nature, too, had made so many improve- 
ments that the general ettect was unusually 

Bill perceived Elizabeth coming toward him 
from the house. He threw away his cigar and 
went to meet her. * Seen by daylight, she was 
more attractive than ever. She looked so small 
and neat and wholesome, so extremely unlike 
Miss Daisy Leonard's friend. And such was the 
reaction from what might be termed his later 
Reigelheimer's mood that if he had been asked 
to define feminine charm in a few words, he 
would have replied without hesitation that it 
was the quality of being as different as possible 
in every way from the Good Sport. Elizabeth 
fulfilled this qualification.. She was not only 
small and neat, but she had a soft voice to which 
it was a joy to listen. 

" I was just admiring your place," he said. 

"Its appearance is the best part of it," said 
Elizabeth. " It is a deceptive place. The bay 
looks beautiful, but you can't bathe in it because 
of the jellyfish. The woods are lovely, but you 
daren't go near them because of the ticks. ' 

" Ticks ? " 

" They jump on you and suck your blood/' 
said Elizabeth, carelessly. " And the nights 
are gorgeous, but you have to stay indoors 
after dusk because of the mosquitoes.' She 
paused to mark the effect of these horrors on 
her visitor. " And then, of -course," she went 
on, as he showed no signs of flying to the house 
to pack his bag and catch the next train, " the 
bees are always stinging you. I hope you are 
not afraid of bees, Mr. Chalmers ? " 

" Rather not. Jolly little chaps ! " 

A gleam appeared in Elizabeth's eye. 

"If you are so fond of them, perhaps you 
wouldn't mind coming and helping me open one 
of the hives ? " 

" Rather ! " 

" I'll go and fetch the things." 

She went into the house and ran up to Nutty's 
room, waking that sufferer from a troubled 

" Nutty, he's bitten." 

Nutty sat up violently. 

" Good gracious ! What by ? " 

" You don't understand. What I meant was 
that I invited your Mr. Chalmers to help me 
open a hive, and he said ' Rather ! ' and is 
waiting to do it now. Be ready to say good-bye 
to him. If he comes out of this alive, his first 
act, after bathing the wounds with ammonia, 
will be to leave us for ever." 

"But look here, he's a visitor " 

" Cheer up ! He won't be much longer." 

" You can't let him in for a ghastly thing like 
opening a hive. When you made me do it 
that time I was picking stings out of myself for 
a week." 

" That was because you had been smoking. 
Bees dislike the smell of tobacco." 

" But this fellow may have been smoking." 

"He has just finished a strong cigar." 

" For Heaven's sake ' " 

" Good-bye, Nutty, dear; I mustn't keep him 

Lord Dawlish looked with interest at the 
various implement!* which she had collected 
when she re joint* A him ouf:r»ide. He relieved 



her of the stool, the smoker, the cotton-waste, 
the knife, the screw-driver, and the queen- 
clipping cage. 

" Let me carry these for you," he said, " unless 
you've hired a van." 

Elizabeth disapproved of this flippancy. It 
was out of place in one who should have been 
trembling at the prospect of doom. 

" Don't you wear a veil for this sort of job ? " 

As a rule Elizabeth did. She had reached a 
stage of intimacy with her bees which rendered 
a veil a superfluous precaution, but until to-day 
she had never abandoned it. Her view of the 
matter was that, though the inhabitants of the 
hives were familiar and friendly with her by 
this time and recognized that she came among 
them without hostile intent, it might well happen 
that among so many thousands there might be 
one slow-witted enough and obtuse enough not 
to have grasped this fact. And in such an event 
a veil was better than any amount of explana- 
tions, for you cannot stick to pure reason when 
quarrelling with bees. 

But to-day it had struck her that she could 
hardly protect herself in this way without 
offering a similar safeguard to her visitor, and 
she had no wish to hedge him about with 

" Oh, no," she said, brightly ; "I'm not 
afraid of a few bees. Are you ? " 

" Rather not ! " 

" You know what to do if one of them flies 
at you ? " 

" Well, it would, anyway — what ? What I 
mean to say is, I could leave most of the doing 
to the bee." 

Elizabeth was more disapproving than ever. 
This was mere bravado. She did not speak 
again until they reached the hives. 

In the neighbourhood of the hives a vast 
activity prevailed. What, heard from afar, had 
been a pleasant murmur became at close quarter 
a menacing tumult. The air was full of bees — 
bees sallying forth for honey, bees returning 
with honey, bees trampling on each other's heels, 
bees pausing in mid-air to pass the time of day 
with rivals on competing lines of traffic. Blunt- 
bodied drones whizzed to and fro with a noise 
like miniature high-powered automobiles, as if 
anxious to convey the idea of being tremendously 
busy without going to the length of doing any 
actual work. One of these blundered into Lord 
Dawlish's face, and it pleased Elizabeth to 
observe that he gave a jump. 

" Don't be afraid," she said, " it's only a 
drone. Drones have no stings." 

" They have hard heads, though. Here he 
comes again ! " 

" I suppose he smells your tobacco. A drone 
has thirty-seven thousand eight hundred nostrils, 
you know." 

" That gives him a sporting chance of smelling 
a cigar — what ? I mean to say, if he misses 
with eight hundred of his nostrils he's apt to 
get it with the other thirty-seven thousand." 

Elizabeth was feeling annoyed with her bees. 
They resolutely declined to sting this young 
man. Bees flew past him, bees flew into him. 

bees settled upon his coat, bees paused ques- 
tioningly in front of him, as who should say, 
4t What have we here ? " but not a single bee 
molested him. Yet when Nutty, poor darling, 
went within a dozen yards of the hives he never 
failed to suffer for it. In her heart Elizabeth 
knew perfectly well that this was because Nutty, 
when in the presence of the bees, lost his head 
completely and behaved like an exaggerated 
version of Lady Wetherby's Dream of Psyche, 
whereas Bill maintained an easy calm ; but at 
the moment she put the phenomenon down to 
that inexplicable cussedness which does so much 
to exasperate the human race, and it fed her 
annoyance with her unbidden guest. 

Without commenting on his last remark, 
she took the smoker from him and set to work. 
She inserted in the fire-chamber a handful of 
the cotton-waste and set fire to it ; then with a 
preliminary puff or two of the bellows to make 
sure that the conflagration had not gone out, 
she aimed the nozzle at the front door of the 

The results were instantaneous. One or two 
bee-policemen, who were doing fixed point-duty 
near the opening, scuttled hastily back into the 
hive ; and from within came a muffled buzzing 
as other bees, all talking at once, worried the 
perplexed officials with foolish questions, a 
buzzing that became less muffled and more 
pronounced as Elizabeth lifted the edge of the 
cover and directed more smoke through the 
crack. This done, she removed the cover, set 
it down on the grass beside her, lifted the super- 
cover and applied more smoke, and raised her 
eyes to where Bill stood watching. His face 
wore a smile of pleased interest. 

Elizabeth's irritation became painful. She 
resented his smile. She hung the smoker on the 
side of the hive. 

" The stool, please, and the screw-driver." 

She seated herself beside the hive and began 
to loosen the outside section. Then taking the 
brood-frame by the projecting ends, she pulled 
it out and handed it to her companion. She 
did it as one who plays an ace of trumps. 

" Would you mind holding this, Mr. 
Chalmers ? ' 

This was the point in the ceremony at which 
the wretched Nutty had broken down absolutely, 
and not inexcusably, considering the severity of 
the test. The surface of the frame was black 
with what appeared at first sight to be a thick, 
bubbling fluid of some sort, pouring viscously 
to and fro as if some hidden fire had been lighted 
beneath it. Only after a closer inspection was 
it apparent to the lay eye that this seeming 
fluid was in reality composed of mass upon mass 
of bees. They shoved and writhed and muttered 
and jostled, for all the world like a collection 
of home-seeking City men trying to secure 
standing room on the Underground at half-past 
five in the afternoon. 

Nutty, making this discovery, had emitted 
one wild yell, dropped the frame, and started 
at full speed for the house, his retreat expedited 
by repeated stings from the nervous bees. Bill, 
more prudent, remained absolutely motionless. 

1 68 


He eyed the seething frame with interest, but 
without apparent panic. 

" I want you to help me here, Mr. Chalmers. 
You have stronger wrists than I have. I will 
tell you what to do. Hold the frame tightly." 
" I've got it." 

" Jerk it down as sharply as you can to within 
a few inches of the door, and then jerk it up 
again. You see, that shakes them off." 

" It would me," agreed Bill, cordially, " if I 
were a bee." 

Elizabeth had the feeling that she had played 
her ace of trumps and by some miracle lost the 
trick. If this grisly operation did not daunt 
the man, nothing, not even the transferring of 
honey, would. She watched him as he raised 
the frame and jerked it down with a strong 
swiftness which her less powerful wrists had 
never been able to achieve. The bees tumbled 
oil in a dense shower, asking questions to the 
last ; then, sighting the familiar entrance to 
the hive, they bustled in without waiting to 
investigate the cause of the earthquake. 

Lord Dawlish watched them go with a kindly 

" It has always been a mystery to me," he 
said, " why they never seem to think of man- 
handling the Johnny who does that to them. 
They don't seem able to connect cause and 
effect. I suppose the only way they can figure 
it out is that the bottom has suddenly dropped 
out of everything, and they are so busy lighting 
out for home that they haven't time to go to 
the root of things. But it's a ticklish job, for 
all that, if you're not used to it. I know when 
I first did it I shut my eyes and wondered whether 
they would bury my remains or cremate them." 
" When you first did it ? " Elizabeth was 
staring at him blankly. " Have you done it 
before ? " 

Her voice shook. Bill met her gaze frankly. 
" Done it before ? Rather ! Thousands of 
times. You see, I spent a year on a bee-farm 
once, learning the business." 

For a moment mortification was the only 
emotion of which Elizabeth was conscious. She 
felt supremely ridiculous. For this she had 
schemed and plotted — to give a practised expert 
the opportunity of doing what he had done a 
thousand times before ! 

And then her mood changed in a flash. Nature 
has decreed that there are certain things in life 
which shall act as hoops of steel, grappling the 
souls of the elect together. Golf is one of these ; 
a mutual love of horseflesh another ; but the 
greatest of all is bees. Between two beekeepers 
there can be no strife. Not even a tepid hostility 
can mar their perfect communion. 

The petty enmities which life raises to be 
barriers between man and man and between 
man and woman vanish once it is revealed to 
them that they are linked by this great bond. 
Envy, malice, hatred, and all uncharitableness 
disappear, and they look into each other's eyes 
and say " My brother ! " 

The effect of Bill's words on Elizabeth was 
revolutionary. They crashed through her dis- 
like, scattering it like an explosive shell. She 

had resented this golden young man's presence 
at the farm. She had thought him in the way. 
She had objected to his becoming aware that 
she did such prosaic tasks as cooking and 
washing-up. But now her whole attitude to- 
ward him was changed. She reflected that he 
was there. He could stay there as long as he 
liked, the longer the better. 

" You have really kept bees ? " 

" Not actually kept them, worse luck 1 . 1 
couldn't raise the capital. You see, money was 
a bit tight " 

" I know," said Elizabeth, sympathetically. 
" Money is like that, isn't it ? " 

" The general impression seemed to be that 
I should be foolish to try anything so specula- 
tive as beekeeping, so it fell through. Some 
very decent old boys got me another job." 

" What job ? " 

" Secretary to a club." 

"In London, of course ? " 

" Yes." 

" And all the time you wanted to be in the 
country keeping bees ! " 

Elizabeth could hardly control her voice, her 
pity was so great. 

" I should have liked it," said Bill, wistfully. 
" London's ail right, but I love the country. 
My ambition would be to have a whacking big 
farm, a sort of ranch, miles away from any- 
where " 

He broke off. This was not the first time he 
had caught himself forgetting how his circum- 
stances had changed in the past few weeks. It 
was ridiculous to be telling hard-luck stories 
about not being able to buy a farm, when he had 
the wherewithal to buy dozens of farms. It 
took a lot of getting used to, this business of 
being a millionaire. 

" That's my ambition too," said Elizabeth, 
eagerly. This was the very first time she had 
met a congenial spirit. Nutty's views on 
farming and the Arcadian life generally were 
saddening to an enthusiast. " If I had the money 
I should get an enormous farm, and in the 
summer 1 should borrow all the children I 
could find, and take them out to it and let them 
wallow in it." 

" Wouldn't they do a lot of damage ? " 

" I shouldn't mind. I should be too rich to 
worry about the damage. If they ruined the 
place beyond repair I'd go and buy another." 
She laughed. " It isn't so impossible as it 
sounds. I came very near being able to do it." 
She paused for a moment, but went on almost 
at once. After all, if you cannot confide your 
intimate troubles to a fellow bee-lover, to whom 

can you confide them ? " An uncle of mine " 

Bill felt himself flushing. He looked away 
from her. He had a sense of almost unbearable 
guilt, as if he had just done some particularly 
low crime and was contemplating another. 

" An uncle of mine would have left me 

enough money to buy all the farms I wanted, 
only an awful person, an English lord — I wonder 
if you have heard of him ?— >Lord Dawlish — 
got hold of uncle somehow and induced him to 
make a will leaving ali the money to him." 



j 69 


She looked at Bill for sympathy, and was 

touched to see that he was crimson with emotion. 

He must be a perfect dear to take other peoples 

misfortunes to heart like that, 
w.i 11;; _ 10 

Vol. lift- 12. 

" I don't know how he managed It/' she went 
on. M He_must have worked and plotted and 
schemed, ^flClilnalleflBATl wasn't a weak sort of 

mai iifffrffi3fTYepfrti^iiaJ».tf >" ou Uked wL,h - 

i 70 


He was very obstinate. But, anyway, this Lord 
Dawlish succeeded in doing it somehow, and 
then " — her eyes blazed at the recollection — 
" he had the insolence to write to me through 
his lawyers offering me half. I suppose he was 
hoping to satisfy his conscience. Naturally I 
refused it." 

" But— but— but why ? " 

" Why I Why did I refuse it ? Surely you 
don't think I was going to accept charity from 
the man who had cheated me ? " 

" But — but perhaps he didn't mean it like 
that. What I mean to say is — as charity, 
you know." 

" He did ! But don't let's talk of it any 
more. It makes me angry to think of him, and 
there's no use spoiling a lovely day like this by 
getting angry." 

Bill sighed. He had never dreamed before 
that it could be so difficult to give money away. 
He was profoundly glad that he had not revealed 
his identity, as he had been on the very point 
of doing just when she began her remarks. He 
understood now why that curt refusal had come 
in answer to his lawyer's letter. Well, there 
was nothing to do but wait and hope that time 
might accomplish something. 

" What do you want me to do next ? " he 
said. " Why did you open the hive ? Did 
you want to take a look at the queen ? " 

Elizabeth hesitated. She blushed with pure 
shame. She had had but one motive in opening 
the hive, and that had been to annoy him. She 
scorned to take advantage of the loophole he 
had provided. Beekeeping is a freemasonry. 
A beekeeper cannot deceive a brother- mason.* 

She faced him bravely. 

" I didn't want to take a look at anything, 
Mr. Chalmers. I opened that hive because I 
wanted you to drop the frame, as my brother 
did, and get stung, as he was ; because I thought 
that would drive you away, because I thought 
then that I didn't want you down here. I'm 
ashamed of myself, and I don't know where 
I'm getting the nerve to tell you this. I hope 
you will stay on — on and on and on." 

Bill was aghast. 

" Good I^>rd ! If I'm in the way " 

" You aren't in the way." 

" But you said " 

" But don't you see that it's so different 
now ? I didn't know then that you were fond 
of bees. You must stay, if my telling you hasn't 
made you feel that you want to catch the next 
train. You will save our lives — mine and 
Nutty's too. Oh. dear, you re hesitating ! 
You're trying to think-up some polite way of 
getting out of the place ! You mustn't go, Mr. 
Chalmers; you simply must stay. There aren't 
any mosquitoes, no jellyfish— nothing ! At 
least, there are ; but what do they matter ? 
You don't mind them. Do you play golf ? " 

" There are links here. You can't go until 
you've tried them. What is your handicap ? " 

" Plus two." 

" So is mine." 

" By Jove ! Really ? 

Elizabeth looked at him, her eyes dancing. 

" Why, we're practically twin souls, Mr. 
Chalmers 1 Tell me, I know your game is nearly 
perfect, but if you have a fault, is it a tendency 
to putt too hard ? " 

" Why, by Jove — yes, it is ! " 

" I knew it. Something told me. It's the 
curse of my life too 1 Well, after that you 
can't go away." 

" But if I'm in the way " 

" In the way ! Mr. Chalmers, will you come 
in now and help me wash the breakfast things ? " 

" Rather ! " said Lord Dawlish. 


In the days that followed their interrupted 
love-scene at Reigelheimer's Restaurant that 
night of Lord Dawlish 's unfortunate encounter 
with the tray-bearing waiter, Dudley Pickering's 
behaviour had perplexed Claire Fenwick. She 
had taken it for granted that next day at the 
latest he would resume the offer of his hand, 
heart, and automobiles. But time passed and 
he made no move in that direction. Of limousine 
bodies, carburettors, spark-plugs, and mher tubes 
he spoke with freedom and eloquence, but the 
subject of love and marriage he avoided abso- 
lutely. His behaviour was inexplicable, 

Claire was piqued. She was in the position 
of a hostess who has swept and garnished her 
house against the coming of a guest and waits 
in vain for that guest's arrival. She had made 
up her mind what to do when Dudley Pickering 
proposed to her next time, and thereby, it 
seemed to her, had removed all difficulties in 
the way of that proposal. She little knew her 
Pickering 1 

Dudley Pickering was not a self-starter in 
the motordrome of love. He needed cranking. 
He was that most unpromising of matrimonial 
material, a shy man with a cautious disposition. 
If he overcame his shyness, caution applied the 
foot-brake. If he succeeded in forgetting caution, 
shyness shut off the gas. At Reigelheimer's 
some miracle had made him not only reckless 
but un-self -conscious. Possibly the Dream of 
Psyche had gone to his head. At any rate, he 
had been on the very verge of proposing to 
Claire when the interruption had occurred, and 
in bed that night, reviewing the affair, he had 
been appalled at the narrowness of his escape 
from taking a definite step. Except in the way 
of business, he was a man who hated definite 
steps. He never accepted even a dinner invita- 
tion without subsequent doubts and remorse. 
The consequence was that, in the days that 
followed the Reigelheimer episode, what Lord 
Wetherby would have called the lamp of love 
burned rather low in Mr. Pickering, as if the 
acetylene were running out. He still admired 
Claire intensely and experienced disturbing 
emotions when he beheld her perfect tonneau 
and wonderful headlights ; but he regarded her 
with a cautious fear. Although he sometimes 
dreamed sentimentally of marriage in the 
abstract, of actual marriage, of marriage with a 
flesh-and-blocd individual^ of marriage that 
involved clergymen ;and "Voices that Breathe 



o'er Eden," and giggling bridesmaids and cake, 
Dudley Pickering was afraid with a terror that 
woke him sweating in the night. His shyness 
shrank from the ceremony, his caution jibbed at 
the mysteries of married life. So his attitude 
toward Claire, the only girl who had succeeded 
in bewitching him into the opening words of an 
actual proposal, was a little less cordial and 
affectionate than if she had been a rival auto- 
mobile manufacturer. 

Matters were in this state when Lady 
Wetherby, who having danced classical dances 
for three months without a break required a 
rest, shifted her camp to the house which she 
had rented for the summer at Brookport, Long 
Island, taking with her Algie, her husband, the 
monkey Eustace, and Claire and Mr. Pickering, 
her guests. The house was a large one, capable 
oi receiving a big party, but she did not wish to 
entertain on an ambitious scale. The only 
other guest she proposed to put up was Roscoe 
Sherriff, her press agent, who was to come 
down as soon as he could get away from his 
metropolitan duties. 

It was a pleasant and romantic place, the 
estate which Lady Wetherby had rented. 
Standing on a hill, the house looked down 
through green trees on the gleaming waters of 
the bay. Smooth lawns and shady walks it 
had, and rustic seats beneath spreading cedars. 
Yet for all its effect on Dudley Pickering it 
might have been a gasworks. He roamed the 
smooth lawns with Claire, and sat with her on 
the rustic benches and talked guardedly of 
lubricating oil. There were moments when 
Claire was almost impelled to forfeit whatever 
chance she might have had of becoming mistress 
of thirty million dollars and a flourishing busi- 
ness, for the satisfaction of administering just 
one whole-hearted slap on his round and thinly- 
covered head. 

And then Roscoe Sherriff came down, and 
Dudley Pickering, who for days had been using 
all his resolution to struggle against the siren, 
suddenly found that there was no siren to 
struggle against. No sooner had the press 
agent appeared than Claire deserted him shame- 
lessly and absolutely. She walked with Roscoe 
Sherriff. Mr. Pickering experienced the dis- 
comfiting emotions of the man who pushes 
violently against an abruptly-yielding door, or 
treads heavily on the top stair where there is 
no top stair. He was shaken, and the clamlike 
stolidity which he had assumed as protection 
gave way. 

Night had descended upon Brookport. 
Eustace, the monkey, was in his little bed ; 
Lord Wetherby in the smoking-room. It was 
Sunday, the day of rest. Dinner was over, and 
the remainder of the party were gathered in 
the drawing-room, with the exception of Mr. 
Pickering, who was smoking a cigar on the 
porch. A full moon turned Long Island into a 

Gloom had settled upon Dudley Pickering 
and he smoked sadly. All rather stout auto- 
mobile manufacturers are sad when there is a 
full moon. It makes them feel lonelv. It stirs 

their hearts to thoughts of love. Marriage loses 
its terrors for them, and they think wistfully of 
hooking some fair woman up the back and buying 
her hats. Such was the mood of Mr. Pickering, 
when through the dimness of the porch there 
appeared a white shape, moving softly toward 

" Is that you, Mr. Pickering ? " 

Claire dropped into the seat beside him. 
From the drawing-room came the soft tinkle 
of a piano. The sound blended harmoniously 
with the quiet peace of the night. Mr. Pickering 
let his cigar go out and clutched the sides of 
his chair. 

" Oi'll — er — sing thee saw-ongs ov Arrabee, 
Und — ah ta-ales of farrr Cash-mee-eere, 
Wi-ild tales to che-eat thee ovasigh 
Und charrrrm thee to-00 a tear-er." 

Claire gave a little sigh. 

" What a beautiful voice Mr. Sherriff has ! " 

Dudley Pickering made no reply. He thought 
Roscoe Sherriff had a beastly voice. He resented 
Roscoe Sherriff's voice. He objected to Roscoe 
Sherriff's polluting this fair night with his 

" Don't you think so, Mr. Pickering ? " 

" Uh-huh." 

" That doesn't sound very enthusiastic. Mr. 
Pickering, I want you to tell me something. 
Have I done anything to offend you ? " 

Mr. Pickering started violently. 

" Eh ? " 

" I have seen so little of you these last few 
days. A little while ago we were always 
together, having such interesting talks. But 
lately it has seemed to me that you have been 
avoiding me." 

A feeling of helplessness swept over Mr. 
Pickering. He was vaguely conscious of a 
sense of being treated unjustly, of there being 
a flaw in Claire's words somewhere if he could 
only find it, but the sudden attack had deprived 
him of the free and unfettered use of his powers 
of reasoning. He gurgled wordlessly, and Claire 
went on, her low, sad voice mingling with the 
moonlight in a manner that caused thrills to 
run up and down his spine. He felt paralyzed. 
Caution urged him to make some excuse and 
follow it with a bolt to the drawing-room, but 
he was physically incapable of taking the excel- 
lent advice. Sometimes when you are out in 
your Pickering Gem or your Pickering Giant 
the car hesitates,, falters, and stops dead, and 
your chauffeur, having examined the carburettor, 
turns to you and explains the phenomenon in 
these words : "The mixture is too rich." So 
was it with Mr. Pickering now. The moonlight 
alone might not have held him ; Claire's voice 
alone might not have held him ; but against 
the two combined he was powerless. The mix- 
ture was too rich. He sat and breathed a little 
stertorously, and there came to him that convic- 
tion that comes to all of us now and then, that 
we are at a crisis of our careers and that the 
moment through which we are living is a moment 
big with fate. 

JNNEftStfY Of ffl€Htfi*>W n s- room stopped. 




Having sung songs of Araby and tales of far 
Cashmere* Mr, Roseoe Shcrriff was refreshing 
himself with a comic paper. Hut Lady Wethrrby, 
seated at the piano, still touched the keys softly, 
and the sound increased the richness of the 
mixture which D^em^iOMC 

spiritual carburettor. It k not fair that a rather 
stout manufacturer should be called upon to 
stt in the moonlight while a beautiful girl, to 
the accompaniment of soft music, reproaches 

him with havii^rl^fHWftorTl 

sho/ujfj. .Uft .so-. mhtk. ..Mr_ ^iickenne, if I 


"tWIvftdTVfJF'MirJflidifl 6 



had done anything to make a difference between 
us " 

•'Eh? " said Mr. Pickering. 

" I have so few real friends over here." 

Claire's voice trembled. 

" I— I get a little lonely, a little homesick 
sometimes " 

She paused, musing, and a spasm of pity 
rent the bosom beneath Dudley Pickering's 
ample shirt. There was a buzzing in his ears 
and a lump choked his throat. 

" Of course, I am loving the life here. I think 
America's wonderful, and nobody could be 
kinder than Lady Wetherby. But — I miss my 
home. It's the first time I have been away 
for so long. 1 feel very far away sometimes. 
There are only three of us at home : my mother, 
myself, and my little brother — -little Percy." 

Her voice trembled again as she spoke the 
last two words, and it was possibly this that 
caused Mr. Pickering to visualize Percy as a 
sort of little Lord Fauntleroy, his favourite 
character in English literature. He had a vision 
of a small, delicate, wistful child pining away 
for his absent sister. Consumptive probably. 
Or curvature of the spine. 

He found Claire's hand in his. He supposed 
dully he must have reached out for it. Soft 
and warm it lay there, while the universe paused 
breathlessly. And then from the semi-darkness 
beside him there came the sound of a stifled sob, 
and his fingers closed as if someone had touched 
a button. 

" We have always been such chums. He is 
only ten — such a dear boy ! He must be missing 
me " 

She stopped, and simultaneously Dudley 
Pickering began to speak. 

There is this to be said for your shy. cautious 
man, that on the rare occasions when he does 
tap the vein of eloquence that vein becomes a 
geyser. It was as if after years of silence and 
monosyllables Dudley Pickering was endeavour- 
ing to restore the average. 

He began by touching on his alleged neglect 
and avoidance of Claire. He called himself 
names and more names. He plumbed the 
depth of repentance and remorse. Proceeding 
from this, he eulogized her courage, the pluck 
with which she presented a smiling face to the 
world while tortured inwardly by separation 
from her little brother Percy. He then turned 
to his own feelings. 

But there are some things which the historian 
should hold sacred, some things which he should 
look on as proscribed material for his pen, and 
the actual words of a stout manufacturer of 
automobiles proposing marriage in the moon- 
light fall into this class. It is enough to say 
that Dudley Pickering was definite. He left 
no room for doubt as to his meaning. 

M Dudley ! " 

She was in his arms. He was embracing her. 
She was his— the latest model, self-starting, 
with limousine body and all the. newest. No, 
no, his mind was wandering. She was his, this 

divine girl, this queen among women, this 

From the drawing-room Roscoe Sherriff's 
voice floated out in unconscious comment : — 
" Good-bye, boys ! 

I'm going to be married to-morrow. 
Good-bye, boys ! 

I'm going from sunshine to sorrow. 
No more sitting up till broad daylight." 

Did a momentary chill cool the intensity of 
Dudley Pickering's ardour ? If so he over- 
came it instantly. He despised Roscoe Sherriff. 
He flattered himself that he had shown Roscoe 
Sherriff pretty well who was who and what was 

They would have a wonderful wedding — 
dozens of clergymen, scores of organs playing 
" The Voice that Breathed o'er Eden, " platoons 
of bridesmaids, wagonloads of cake. And then 
they would go back to Detroit and live happy 
ever after. And it might be that in time to 
come there would be given to them little run- 

" I'm going to a life 

Of misery and strife, 

So good-bye, boys I " 

Hang Roscoe Sherriff ! What did he know 
about it ? Confound him ! Dudley Pickering 
turned a deaf ear to the song and wallowed in 
his happiness. 

Claire walked slowly down the moonlit drive. 
She had removed herself from her Dudley's 
embraces, for she wished to be alone, to think. 
The engagement had been announced. All that 
part of it was over — Dudley's stammering 
, speech, the unrestrained delight of Polly 
Wetherby, the facetious rendering of " The 
Wedding Glide " on the piano by Roscoe 
SherrifT, and it now remained for her to try to 
discover a way of conveying the news to Bill. 

It had just struck her that, though she knew 
that Bill was in America, she had not his 

What was she to do ? She must tell him. 
Otherwise it might quite easily happen that 
they might meet in New York when she returned 
there. She pictured the scene. She saw herself 
walking with Dudley Pickering. Along came 
Bill. " Claire, darling ! " . . . Heavens, what 
would Dudley think ? It would be too awful ! 
She couldn't explain. No, somehow or other, 
even if she put detectives on his trail, she must 
find him, and be off with the old love now that 
she was on with the new. 

She reached the gate and leaned over it. 
And as she did so someone in the shadow of 
a tall tree spoke her name. A man came into 
the light, and she saw that it was Lord Dawlish. 


(To be continued.^ 


Portraits of Celebrities at 
Different Ages. 


Principal of the Guildhall School of Music, 

Fhvto, G- A R Lavil 

!\ H E R E are 
not m a n y 
men at the 
ape of forty- 
three who 
ran boast of being the 
brad of one of the largest 
music schools in the 
world, one of the most 
popular of English 
song- writers, and at the 
same time one of the 
most famous eondurtors 
of modern times, Such, 
however, is the unique 
record of Mr. La n don 
Ronald, the Principal 
of the Guildhall School 
"1 Music, the conductor 
of the Royal Alberl 
Hull Orchestra, and the 
composer of ll< Down in 
the Forest/' "O Lovely 
Night/' and dozens of 

Cage e 

IF. it D. DirvwtVr 


other famous songs. 
According to his mother, 
he could play the piano 
before he could talk, 
and his first song was 
written and published 
at the age of seven. 
There was never the 
slightest doubt as to 
what profession or busi- 
ness young Landon 
Ronald was to adopt. 
Vusic seemed part of 
him. and there could 
be " no possible doubt 
whatever " that he was 
unlit ted for anything 
else. Accordingly, after 
much private tuition, 
lie entered the Royal 
College of .Music at the 
age of thirteen, where 
■ her remained until he 
"W^Wn and a half. 




He was promptly engaged to play '* I/Enfant 
Prodigue/' which at once brought him' much 
kudos and set musicians of eminence like 
Sir Charles Halls: and Norman Xeruda talking 
about him. However, he had no intention 
of remaining a pianist, so accepted an engage- 
ment to conduct comic opera in the provinces* 
He then came under the notice of the late 
Sir Augustus Harris, of Co vent Garden and 
Drury Lane Theatres, and did much valuable 
work as under-conductor and coach during 
the opera seasons. Mine. Melba quickly 
recognized his remarkable gifts as an accom- 
panist, and for yours he played for her and 
conducted her concerts, It was about 1895, 
when he was twenty -two years old, that Sir 
Paolo Tostt arranged for Mr, Ronald to help 
him in his duties as accompanist at Court, 
and he has many interesting recollections of 
the various State functions at which he has 

FfUfto. W. Whittle 

assisted , during the reigns of Queen Victoria 
and King Edward. In a short article of this 
kind it is impossible to follow him through 
all the phases of his varied career. Suffice it 
to say that after conducting comic opera at 
the Lyric Theatre, and all kinds of concerts 

for K u h e 1 i k , 
Melba, and other 
great artists at 
the Queen's and 
Royal Albert 
Halls, he even- 
tually got an 
orchestra of his 
own which be- 
came famous as 
the Xew Sym- 
phony Orchestra, 
and is now known 
as the Roval 
Albert Hall 
Orchestra, He 
toured Europe 3 
achieving nothing 
but success after 
success at lierhn, 
Vienna, Rome, 
Leipzig Amster- 
dam, and all the 
chief Continental 

MICHIGAN cities ' ln1910 ' 



rhvtv, Clande Hawi*. 

at the early ape of thirty-seven, he was 
appointed the Principal of the Guildhall 
School of Music hy the City Fathers. In 
a varied career Mr, Ronald has acted as 
musical critic for the Artist ', the Taller, and 
the Onlooker. He has composed and published 

Digitized byLiOOgle 

over three hundred songs, and has written 
several ballets and orchestral works. His 
versatility seems only equalled by his 
capacity for work. He takes little interest 
in any sort of outdoor games,, one of his 
favourite pastiipes Jb^iflgcjtfading poetry. 




Illustrated by Treyer Evans. 

HEN Mr. Middleton brought 
home the news the ladies of 
his establishment had one 
regret, and one only. This 
was th^t. Daisy would not 
receive the information until 
the following day. Daisy, the 
younger daughter, was away at a boarding- 
school at St. Leonards, and her mother and 
her sister often said of Daisy that she 
possessed a most wohderful sense of humour ; 
Mrs. Middleton remarked V that this came 
from her side of: .the family. 

"Your, Pa," she. said— " it's one of his 
many drawbacks-^can never see fun. You 
might argue with, him, Ethel, on this appoint- \ 
ment he has . just spoke - about, and you 
could talk about the .amusing nature of the 
incident until y,oii were hoarse,, but you'd 
never get so. much as a smile out of him." 

" Poor Pa ! "'ejaculated Ethel. She went 
on with her .task of making up the green- 
covered books', of . various customers. The 
books had on the cover the name, in gilt 
letters, " Chas. Middleton," and below, "Dairy 
Farmer, Established 1892," with the address ; 
the pages were interleaved with slips of 
blotting-paper, and items on each page were 
milk, nursery milk, cream, fresh butter, 
Dorset butter, eggs, bread. 

" But doesn't it show," went on Mrs. 
Middleton, " how the authorities bungle 
everything they take in hand ! The idea of 
selecting him as a school manager ! With 
all respect to your Pa, my dear — he's built 
up the business, and I don't wish to deny it 
— but he's no more fitted for a position of 
that kind than is this tea-cosy that I'm 
making for a church bazaar at the present 

" We shall see," remarked the elder 
daughter, resignedly, " what sort of a muddle 
he makes of it." 

Mr. Middleton took his first public duties 
in a manner that seemed to justify the reputa- 
tion for seriousness given to him by the ladies 
of the household. He attended the monthly 
meetings, and visited schools of the group in 
his spare time ; for some reason that his wife 
and daughter could not explain, he became 

popular with members of the teaching staff, 
looked upon with respect by his fellow- 
managers. A vacancy occurred on the Board 
of Guardians in Ward Three, and he was 
begged by one. or two people to allow himself 
to be nominated. (I have an idea that the 
influence of school teachers of the district 
helped to secure his election.) 

" This," said Mrs. Middleton to her elder 

daughter, speaking with resolution, " this is 

where all the nonsense must end. Here it 

:has to finish. We can't allow him to convert 

himself into a laughing-stock." 

" I could forgive him a good deal," remarked 

.Ethel, " if he would only keep his mouth shut. 

He's not a bad-looking old dear to look at." 

"He always had what I call an impressive 
appearance. The first time I met him I 
thought he was handsome. But "— excus- 
ingly — " you know what girls are when they 
fa'l in love." 

" Haven't any personal knowledge," said 
the elder daughter, " and, to tell you the 
truth, Ma, I'm getting a trifle anxious about 
it. Daisy will be home in the course of a 
few months, and everybody will be expecting 
me to be wearing a ring soon afterwards." 

" Unfortunately," bewailed her mother, 
" you are likely to get no sort of help from 
your " poor Pa. He's enough to put any 
young men off who came after you." 

There was want of fairness in this remark, 
for, as the girl hinted, no youth had favoured 
her with any of the preliminary signals of 
affection. This may have been due to the 
circumstance that Ethel looked upon her 
equals with contempt, whilst her superiors 
gave no regard to a young woman who lived 
over a dairy. A break in the clouds appeared 
when Mr. Middleton announced that he had 
taken three tickets for a dance, to be held in 
connection with the borough charities. " But 
what will he look like in evening dress ? " 
exclaimed the mother and daughter privately. 

Mr. Middleton went to a good tailor, who 
put forth his highest efforts, and on the 
evening before setting out Mrs. Middleton 
upset the convention of many years by paying 
her husband a frank and genuine compli- 

i 7 3 


regarding the correct deportment to be 
observed in a ball-room, and in order to 
reduce the possibility of blunders directed 
him, on arriving at the hall, to make straight 
for the card-room, and to stay there until 

" Ethel and I can look after ourselves/ f 
she said. 

A summons came to Mr. Middleton before 
half an hour had elapsed, and, giving his hand 
over to somebody else, he hastened to comply. 
Mrs. Middleton wore an appearance of one 
who had been slighted ; Ethel exhibited an 
air of acute disappointment. They had, it 
appeared, encountered friends and hoped 


these might introduce male partners : dancing 
gentlemen happened to be few in number, and 
the friends kept the desimhle youths, so 
to speak, on the leash. Stewards, applied 
to, responded with a hopeless gesture and a 
confession that they were unable to perform 
the impossible* 

" Take us home, Pa ! " ordered Mrs, 
Middleton, grimly. 

M Wait just one second, my dear/' lie 

And left them to hurry around, to greet 
acquaintances and contemporaries, and to 
be presented to their sons* He came back 
with a valuable collection of six, who waited 
in a line to inscribe initials on Miss Middle- 
ton's programme ; the sudden rush of appli- 
cants stimulated the attention of other 
youths, who now made their way across, 

11 It's been a lovely evening/' declared 
Ethel, with enthusiasm, as the three drove 
home after midnight, u and I'm ever so much 
obliged to you, dear Pa." The unusual 
flattery v/r.s enough to turn his head. He did, 
as a fact, turn his head, and 
his daughter gave him a kiss 
that seemed to possess for 
him a considerable value. 
" And," she added " your 
aitches are improving." 

" I overheard people M 
mentioned his wife/ 1 speaking 
quite nicely about you, Pa/' 
Matters stood in this new 
and comfortable state when 
Daisy, the younger girl, 
returned from St. Leonards, 
a well-equipped article from 
one of the manufactories 
that take so much trouble 
from the shoulders of 
parents, Ethel had engaged 
herself to a young man, a 
companion at the dance, of 
admirable family who, in the 
handsomest way, agreed to 
loveriook the circumstance 
that her people ran a milk 
business* The younger 
daughter, called upon to 
learn book - keeping, and 
other useful arts that the 
St. Leonards school omitted 
to teach — she had antici- 
pated a few months of 
joyous liberty, with 
mornings in bed, afternoons 
at the theatres, evenings at 
dances — expressed annoy- 
ance by holding her father up to ridicule on 
every possible occasion. Unconsciously the 
girl did a useful service. Mr. Middleton, 
adopting careful methods of speech at meet- 
ings of the C.innluns, ami <m other public 
occasions, had continued his old ways in 
addressing the men of the establishment ; he 
was now intfOifffi(nfrl>frth^ sarcasms of his 





" ' What-Oj Jim/ is, perhaps/' she would 
remark j £i an easy form of salutation to an 
employ**, but it may be described as wanting 
in dignity, * How's the old Dutch ? i is, 
I take it, a polite inquiry after the health of 
somebody's wife who has been ailing : a 
more commendable form of the question 
would be> ' I trust your wife is making a 
good recovery.* " 

M Don't worry your Pa," urged Mrs, 

" I could not possibly repay him/* said the 
girl, coldly, M for the anxiety he gives to me." 

However depreciatory the view taken at 
home, it appeared certain that outside Mr. 
MiddleUm was finding due recognition. He 
became a borough councillor and even Daisy 
was compelled to admit that his speeches, as 
given in the local journals, read well enough. 
Daisy had made the acquaintance of a gentle- 
man who described himself as connected with 
the principal London newspapers, and on 
their first chance meeting gave her his card 
bearing, in careful handwriting, the names 
of many of these ; by him she was informed 
that a deal of the popularity of many notable 
men was due to the way in which their w r ords 
were improved before coming to the reader, 
Mr. Pringle $dded that he himsefl was writing 
a book which he ventured to say would 
create some fluttering in the dove-cotes ; in 
it he proposed to denounce the shams and 
affectations of the world. Daisy thought this 
an excellent idea, and mentioned that she 
was coming into the possession, on her 
eighteenth birthday, of a sum of two thousand 
pounds left her by an aunt, This was not 
a statement that included the quality of 
truth, and at the moment it seemed to be 
ineffective, for Mr. Pringle said he regarded 
money as nothing more than a means to an 
end — which Daisy thought a vague remark, 

but dared not say so— and considered happi- 
ness could be achieved without the assistance 
of gold. 

That Mr, Pr ingle did put some value 
upon cash was clear from the fact that, soon 
after the girl's birthday, he made formal 
and written application to her for two hundred 
and fifty pounds. Unless this amount were 
paid over at once he intended to show her 
letters to her father and mother, and later, 
perhaps, to publish them in one of the numerous 
journals with which he claimed a connection. 
The note came on the day of Ethel's wedding, 
and it was remarked by sentimental guests 
that the wrench caused when sisters were 
divided was more acute than some people 
imagined ; an aunt said that to look at the 
doleful features of the younger girl you might 
have guessed it was she who was about to be 
married. At the breakfast the astonishing 
detail w T as the admirable way in which Mr, 
Mid die ton made his brief speech, 

'* Sir/' said Ethel's husband, in following, 
u I count it an honour to be marrying into 
a family where the head of the household 
is a cultivated English gentleman." Daisy 
laughed, i£ Of the best type," added the 
bridegroom. Daisy laughed again, and the 
laugh became hysterical. She had to be 
taken from the room. 

" She'll be quite herself again/' remarked 
the mother, hopefully, M after a good night's 

Daisy did not obtain a good night's rest, 
and although she attempted to deal with the 
account* books the next day, her father begged 
her to go out for a 'bus ride, and get some 
fresh air* Between the blotting-paper inter- 
leaves of one of the books he found the letter 
from Mr. Pringle. Mr, Middleton took his 
largest walking-stick and, outside the estab- 



Daisy returned late that atternoon, and 
went straight to her father. 

" Pa/ J she said j w I've been trying to make 
up my mind to drown myself, but it appears 
Tm too great a coward- I'm in a dreadful 
fix, and 1 wish I knew how to begin to tell 

11 My dear," he remarked* gently, u don't 
you bother to do anything of the kind, 
'I here's your bundle of letters for you to put 
in the fire, and you needn't be afraid that 
you'll ever see the scoundrel again. Only, 
another time you take up with anybody, you 
just let me have a look at him first. See 
what I mean, don't you, my dear? " 

The perplexing incident which remained was 
the discovery by Mrs. Middleton that one of 
Pa's walking-sticks was broken in two pieces. 
1 1 happened to be Pa's favourite, and it proved 
significant of his new authority in the house- 
hold that Mrs. Middleton made a special 
journey to the shop where it had been 
originally bought and purchased another 
exactly like it. u We can't have him bothered 
about trifles," she said. 

The son Robert out in Canada (not hitherto 


referred to in these pa^s because his name 
was rarely mentioned by the family) wrote 
that, after years of trying experiences, he 
had at length encountered a stroke of luck, 
and was coming home shortly on a visit, 
bringing with him his newly-acquired wife, 
whose good supply of money was, he men- 
tioned, invested in the timber trade. He 
added that she was a business-like young 

woman, and the journey would be _ not 
entirely one of pleasure and si^ht-seeing. 
It gave Mrs. Middleton — to whom the letter 
was addressed— something in the nature of 
a shock to find this as a postscript: — 

" The great thing is to keep poor Pa out 
of the way, I naturally want the wife to 
get a good impression of my people, and I 
know I can rely upon you, and the girls, 
but I certainly cannot trust Pa,** It seemed 
to Mrs. Middleton almost incredible that 
there could ever have been a time when her 
husband occupied an inferior position in the 
esteem of the family. 

The visit from Canada was delayed for 
some reason that had to do with contracts. 
Meanwhile Alderman Middleton's authority at 
home became complete and undisputed ; he 
and Daisy were good chums and close com- 
panions^ and to any event at the Mansion 
House or elsewhere for which he received an 
invitation, she was taken whenever Mrs* 
Middleton begged to be allowed to stand 
aside, Mrs. Middleton, once an authority 
on social matters, and possessed of great 
ambition, seemed dispirited by the advance 

her husband had 
made. To her 
married daughter 
she gave the ad- 
mission that she 
felt ill at ease at 
some of the en- 
tertainments and 
guessed that 
wives of other 
public men pri- 
vately criticized 
her, speaking of 
her likely enough 
as old-fashioned 
and dull, Mrs, 
Middleton h a d 
happened across 
an article in a 
journal, written 
in a light vein hut 
taken by at least 
one reader with 
all seriousness ; in this it was contended that 
any man who wedded in youthful days T and 
afterwards progressed in the world, should be 
at liberty to choose a fresh partner* 

4i I've read it three times," she said to 
her married daughter, " and it's made me 
feel terrible. Supposing the idea was taken 
up by Parliament ?r A nice look-out for 




" There's one thing you might do, Ma," 

" Name it," she begged, eagerly. 

" Keep yourself a trifle smarter* Spend 
a little more money on dress. You're begin- 
ning to look dowdy." 

" I don't seem/ 5 bewailed Mrs. Middle ton, 
" to have the heart and strength to make the 
effort.' 1 

" Your heart is as good as ever it was, apd 
your strength is sufficient to take you as^far 
as Oxford Street." 

Cheered by the acquisition of a new silk 
blouse, Mrs. Middleton allowed herself to 
be taken to a lunch given in honour of some 
municipal gentlemen from abroad ; before 
going she announced to her husband and to 
the staff at the dairy that she felt quite 
certain she was not going to enjoy herself 

anyone could be 




the leas test bit. The dismal prophecy had 
to be relinquished when it was found that 
for the meal separate tables had been pro- 
vided } and that at the table where she and 
her husband sat they had for close neighbours 
three other couples who chanced to be folk 
for whom she had a special regard. 

*' But I had the fright of my life" she 
declared , subsequently, to her married 
daughter. ;£ Heaven grant I may never 
have to go through such an experience again. 
I'll tell you how it was. The conversation 
turned on the subject of how some folk kept 
their appearance, and how some folk went off 

in their appearance. To change the topic, 
I spoke of that article in the newspaper I 
told you about the other day, and Vd no 
sooner done so, Ethel, than I discovered 
I'd gone out of the frving-pan and bang into 
the fire." 

" In what way, Ma ? " 
" I'm telling you, if you'll only listen. 
One of the gentlemen at the table suggested 
that everyone should write down on the 
back of the menu-card the name of the person 
they would choose if they were free to marry 
again, I wrote Lord Roberts on mine. 
When we had finished the gentleman collected 
them all, and began to read them out. Of 
course most of 'em, like mine, were jokes. 
They read mine first, and your Pa said he 
always suspected I had a weakness for the 
military. One lady was very much upset 
over the name her husband had given, and 
we had to get smelling-salts for her. The 
last one was your Pa's t and I ask you to 
believe, my dear, that I was as nervous as 
Our friend Middleton/ 
read out the gentleman, 
' if free to marry again 
would select Charlotte 
Bates. Now who on 
earth is Charlotte 
Bates?' And, of 
course, I was able to 
tell them that this was 
my maiden name. And 
your Pa blew a kiss 
across the table to me, 
and I blew one back to 
him, and altogether," 
said Mrs. Middleton, 
cheerfully, u altogether, 
Ethel , I enjoyed myself 
a fair old treat." 

" You mean you 
enjoved yourself very 

11 Perhaps," she ad- 
mitted, "that is a better way of putting it." 
Robert, the son, and his wife: 1 arrived in the 
November that saw Mr, Middleton elected as 
mayor for the borough ; a telephone message 
from one of the large hotels off the Strand 
was the first announcement of their presence 
in town* Daisy took the message, and 
accepted, on behalf of her mother and herself, 
the invitation to dinner for that evening ; 
she urged that Pa should be allowed to 
accompany them, but Robert said, with 
derision, that he pmpnsed to take no risks. 
He added f'-at his wife was out endeavouring 

t0 LflfflraSlTt 0ft*H« act w ' th th * 



Admiralty ; he expected she would return 
by seven o'clock in the evening, and at any 
time after that hour his mother and sister 
would be welcomed. Their presence was to 
be a surprise for the wife, " But for good- 
ness' sake," he implored/" do try to look your 
best, and to talk your best, and say as little 
as you can about the milk business. The 
wife is very quick to take offence." Daisy 
and her mother spoke apart of the trials 
endured by any youth who married a girl 
possessing money, Mr, Middleton was down 
at Spring Gardens consulting L.C.C members 
on a matter which affected the borough. 

The two found Robert at the hotel in a 
state of agitation that prevented him from 
showing a correct pleasure in meeting them 
again. His wife had not come in, although the 
time was now seven-thirty, and he feared that 
she, a stranger to London, had either missed 
her way, or that some accident had happened. 

" If I lose her/* he cried, distractedly, " I 
lose everything. My name is just mentioned 
in her will, and that is all/' He glanced at 
his visitors* '* You've both changed a good 
deal/' he said, 

" You haven't/' retorted Daisy. " You're 
as selfish as ever you were. Shall we go in 
to dinner ? " 

He implored them to share his agitation. 
Food, he declared, could not be looked at by 
him until doubts concerning the safety of his 
w + ife were cleared up. 

At half-past eight Mrs. Middleton and her 
daughter threatened to leave, and he took 
them, with reluctance, to the dining-room. 
At a corner table he saw his wife in the com- 
pany of a good-looking man of middle age. 

* fi What do you mean, Robert ! " she 
demanded, five seconds later, " by gripping 
at your father's shoulder in that truculent 
way ? Compose yourself and behave your- 

li I— I don't understand." 

11 You rarely do ! " said Mrs, Robert. 

The ladies were tntroduced ? explanations 
made. It appeared that Mrs, Robert , in- 
correctly directed by someone whose ac- 
quaintance with town was equal to her own, 
and who made a wild guess at the building 
occupied by the Admiralty, went up the 
steps of the L.C.C offices and gave her name 
to an attendant. The attendant said alertly 
that a London mayor called Middleton 
happened to be in the building, and went at 
once to find him. Mr. Middleton arriving, 
quickly took the correct view of the situa- 
tion, and placed his services at the disposal 
of his daughter-in-law. At the Admiralty he 
was able to discover a permanent official 
with whom he chanced to be on friendly 
terms. From this everything went satis- 
factorily, and the two were now dining 
together in order to earn' on their interesting 

" You ought to be proud of your father/' 
she said, to her husband. 

" I am, mv dear/' he declared, eagerly. 
14 I am ! " 

u We are all proud of Pa/' said, in duet, 
Mrs. Middleton and Daisy, 

Mr, Middleton rose from his chair and, 
going around the table, w r ith some emotion 
kissed the members of his family, 

11 And me. too ! " begged the young woman 
from Canada. 


lW&W.ftf».tf E -" 








HURG, the idol of all 
Germany, is doomed. 
Doomed to a violent 
and tragic end 3 and 
this, all uncon- 
sciously, by the Germans themselves, 
who worship him as their pre- 
destined deliverer, little imagining 
him to be^ in reality, their pre- 
destined victim. 

How can this be? you ask. Well, 
it appears that in this instance, as 
in many others, oar Hunnish enemies 
have been misled by their own 
supernal cleverness. For months 
upon months , as everybody knows, 
the Germans have been driving 
nails into wooden statues of Von 
Hindenburg^ which exist all over Germany* 
Patriotic Teutons pay so much for the privi- 
lege of driving so many nails, and thus 
money is raised for the German Red Cross. 
There are golden and silvern nails for 
plutocrats to drive in (Czar Ferdinand of 
Bulgaria , for example, when he was in Berlin, 
drove in golden nails representing a contribu- 
tion of five hundred pounds), and many of 
these wooden effigies of Hunland's silent 
strong man are studded with nail-heads over 
every square inch of their timber anatomies. 
The biggest of them all, called " The Iron 
Hmdenburg/' stands in front of the Reichstag 
building in the Konigs-Platz, Berlin, and has 
been " nailed " by practically everyone of 
importance in the capital. Also by practi- 
cally everybody of unimportance, since this 
nailing business has been most carefully 






rtoto, bit Unit it mud rf UuJwwd. 

organized. Even school-children are shep- 
herded up to the statue on holiday afternoons 
to drive nails into Ilinclcnburg, From the 
provinces " nailing excursions " are run to 
Berlin, On Sundays a military hand plays 
in front of the effigy to attract crowds and 
money, and at night a powerful searchlight is 
directed on it 

The idea of thus utilizing effigies of the 
Prussian Field-Marshal is a not uningeniovis 
one. but unhappily (from the German stand- 
point) it spells disaster for I linden burg 
himself, So asserts one of the most eminent 
British authorities on folklore and supersti- 
tions—Mr. Edward Lovett— who explains 
that, in thus perforating effigies of the 
renowned Field-Marshal, the Germans have 
done the.. 1 ', unluckiest " thing possible, so 
far as thtf^WM 1 Secerned. Mr. Lovcu 


i8 4 


of course, is a prominent member of the 
t British Folklore Society, a renowned lecturer 
and writer on subjects connected with super- 
stitious beliefs, and an indefatigable collector 
of M charms " and amulets, some of which he 
recently exhibited, If there is anybody in 
Kn^land specially qualified to discuss a 
u portent/' it is undoubtedly he, 

" The belief that driving sharp objects into 
a figure representing an individual worked 
injury to the original/' said Mr. Lovett, M was 
a world-wide one in primitive times, and is 
held in many parts of Europe to-day. In the 
old days, if one had an enemy, one went to 
a man-witch {for it is a delusion that all 
witches w r ere women) and bought from him a 
figure modelled in wax representing the person 
upon whom it was desired to be avenged. 
The injured person was then instructed to 
stick pins or other sharp instruments into the 
wax figure, the belief being that disease would 
l>e bred in the corresponding parts of the body 
of the original. 

" When this had been done the wizard gener- 
ally contrived that it should become known to 
the person upon whom the spell was being 
worked that it was in progress, and this 
often preyed on his mind to such an extent 

that he pined and 
died, which was 
the end generally 
aimed at. The 
folk - lore in re- 
gard to this prac- 
tice is almost 
endless, and the 
Germans, in dis- 
regarding it, have 
once more over- 
reached t h e m- 
selves. Anything 
more fatal, 
according to all 
traditions, than 
d r i v i n g sharp 
objects into 
models of an indi- 
v i d u a 1 it is 
impossible to con- 
ceive, and though 
I am not gener- 
ally given to 
myself, I firmly 
believe that — as a 
result of just this 
thin g— Hinden- 
burtf will come to 
a viole 
3V vjji 





You smile, perhaps, at an acknowledged 
11 specialist J1 in the history and practice of 
superstitions yielding to one himself. But 
superstition is the order of the day— the war 
has resulted in a simply tremendous revival 
of it — and nowhere is the thing more manifest 
than in this London of ours. As an example, 
let me picture for you a strange, almost an 
incredible, sight to witness in a great centre 
of civilization in this twentieth century. 

We are looking into a room in the grimy 
East-end of London , a shabby room such as 
one would expect to find in this poor, be- 
draggled region, but a room, nevertheless, 
whose cheap little ornaments and brave at- 
tempts at brightness betray unmistakably that 
it belongs to one of the fair sex. The hour 
is the * fc witching " one of midnight. Mid- 
night on a Friday ! 

Standing beside a table, in her night 
attire, and with a rapt look on her younp 
face, is a girl, the tenant of the room. She is 
typical of her class, the class that toils in the 
factories of grimy Whitechapel and Aldgate. 
Surreptitiously and with haste, although she 
has fast locked the door, she uncorks a viat 
which she has taken from her cheap " vanity 
hag." and pours some of its blood- red contents 
into a dish. To this she applies a light, anc- 
the substance bursts into a flame, which for 
an instant lights up the humble room. As 
the substance, which is dragon's blood, boils 
and bubbles, the girl, her face grown pale and 
her hands a-tremble, solemnly repeats an 
incantation. This is what she says : — 

f Tis not this blood I wish to burn, 
But jusi a heart I wish to turn. 
May he no joy nor profit see 
Till he conies hack a^am lo me. 

Then, as the strokes of midnight chime 
out, this Httle infatuated fool solemnly 
pronounces a u boy's " name. 

The rite ended, she swiftly removes all 
traces of her burnt-offering and betakes her- 
self to her bed T to be rewarded^ let us hope, 
with happy dreams. 

It is an actual fact that girls in the East- 
end and other parts of London, whose affairs 
of the heart are not progressing to their 
satisfaction, perform this and other similar 
rites with an identical object at midnight on 
Friday, which is a H lucky M night. The 
" dragon's blood " which they employ, and 
which is a gum resin commonly used for 
staining, the girls obtain from small iE herbal- 
ists," whose shops abound in the poorer 
districts, and from whom this and other 
potent M charms " can be obtained for a few 
pence. The CJitWfcrff f itokOse affections are 




the list is a 

■nrkj which hag 

^ e o m e the 
"■inscot of our 

ur Service at 

^ilonica and 

always meets 

ll' pilots when 

.]x\ land. The 

<;hers include 

ill manner of 
j. casts and birds 

-dogs, parrots, 

1 h i c k e n Sj ^ 

>nakes, mon- \ 

k e y s, pigs, 
floats, sheep, 

lizards, chameleons, cows, bears, 
tiger-cubs, aits, antelopes, kan- 
garoos, wolves t ducks, pelicans, 
canaries 7 other birds and other 

An especially mirthful history 
is that of three full-grown, milk- 
giving cows, which one of the 
Canadian regiments actually 
adopted as £t mascots/' This 
was a field artillery organiza- 
tion, and the men found the 
ownerless bo vines on the 
countryside in France, The 
Canadians treasured these cows 
highly, but there was some 
difficulty about adopting 
them as mascots. The ei brass- 
hats " higher up thought they 
were too cumbersome. It was 
then observed that cows were 
very useful things to have 
around batteries of artillery. Thev lent 
H an air of peace and tranquillity to the 
countryside, for, no matter what hap- 
pened, no matter how near the exploding 
guns and shells they were, these cows 
never even looked up, but went quietly 
along with their grazing. The noise 
bothered them not at all, and their quiet 
mien was calculated to deceive the 
enemy as to gun positions. So the 
Canadians were permitted to keep the 
cows* But there came a time when 
the particular battery to which thev 
were attached had to be hastily removed 
from one point to another. The battery 
was obliged to make quick work of it, 
and there was a deal of trouble in taking 
the cows along. When, later, another 
shift of the guns was necessary, the 



same difficulties were encountered, the cows 
again refusing to be hurried, it was then 
seen that they would have to be given 
up. One of them was traded for a case of 
Scotch whisky, and another for a quantity 
of fine French wine. The third, at last 
accounts, was still in the market, awaiting 
a good offer. 

One of the quaintest mascots actually at 
the Front is a little pig that has made his home 
in a Canadian officers ' mess. He follows the 
mess orderlies all over the place, moves from 
the vicinity of the kitchen only when the food 
is carted into the dining-rooms, and squeals 
fearfully whenever there is anything to eat 
within sight or smell. He is an intelligent 
animal, and lias come to know personally 
the various officers of the mess, running 
toward them and recognizing them when 
they return to their quarters. 

On board the battleship Prince George, 
which saw much service in the Dardanelles, 
one of the mascots is a hen. It is claimed that 
this hen has been under fire more than thirty 

timesj and 
never seems to 
mind it at all. 
She lays eg 53 
w i t h consider- 
able regularity, 
and has one 
chick* The 
sailors say of 
her : fi She lays 
eggs with the 
shells outside, 
w h i I e we lay 
guns with the 
shells inside." 


1* f . v 





&teliW3Wr?*ff PLACE." 




sombre matters that we are now dealing, 
Rather let us return, on hilarity bent, to the 
damsels of the East-end, among whom a new 
craze has developed since the fighting began 
and Britain set to work to create a New 
Army. This craze is over tattooing* 

For soldiers and sailors to have their 
sweethearts' names or initials tattooed on their 
arms is a practice centuries old, but in the 
East-end to-day the order has been reversed. 

her arm. The girl declared that she " didn't 
mind/ 1 and nonchalantly slipped up her 
sleeve, and therej in multi-coloured script 
he read the romantic declaration ; — 

"I love Bill Bloggs" (or whatever the 
name was)* 

The damsels having departed, the " artist " 
was asked if his fair clients were invariably 
constant, or if they ever wanted the original 
names expunged and new ones substituted, 

" Bless you/ 1 was 
the reply, "they 
nearly always do ! 
When one fellow goes 
to the Front they 
take up with another 
and want the second 
lad's name put on 


can you 


Professional tattoo ists down there affirm that 
they are kept uncomfortably busy by damsels 
who desire to have their lt boys' " names thus 
indelibly imprinted on their arms. Tattooing 
can be done now by an electrically-controlled 
instrument, this method being both consider- 
ably quicker and less painful than the old- 
fashioned method. 

41 The girls around here fairly flock to me/ 1 
declared one of these artists to Mr, Lovett, 
** and they all want boys' names , mostly 
soldiers' and sailors', done on their arms, 
There's two of 'em in there now " (indicating 
an inner room where his assistant was at 
work). From this room two buxom belles 
presently emerged , and the tattooist inquired 
of one if she would mind his visitor seeing 

manage that ? " 

tl Surely we can., 
if the name isn't too 
long. What we 
generally do is to 
turn the first name 
into a nice little 
bunch of flowers, and 
then print the new 
name underneath. 
There is one girl 
down here — a terrible 
flirt she must be — 
who has had' the 
names of twenty- 
seven different 
4 boys ■ put on her 
arm, That is, she 
now has the words 
1 I love ' at the top, 
then twenty-six 
bunches of flowers, 
and at the bottom, just above her wrist, 
1 Tom Snooks/ or whatever the name of her 
present fellow is." 

I wonder if that girl's invitation is M Come 
to my arm " ? 

Kipling has been telling us haw the four- 
footed u mascots " of His Majesty's ships 
behaved during the Jutland fight, and it is 
thus timely to relate a story or two about 
furred and feathered friends of our Jacks 
and Tommies which have not previously 
been chronicled in print. 

The Service man who told me their histories 
declared, by the way ; that there is authority 
for stating that the number of these animal 
(and bird) mascots must easily run to eight 
thousand or iQmiJn^tfoQlltost recent addition 




to the list is a 
stork, which has 
become the 
mascot of our 
Air Service at 
Salonica and 
always meets 
the pilots when 
they land. The 
others include 
all manner of 
beasts and birds 
—dogs, parrots, 
snakes, mon- 
keys, pigs, 
goats, sheep, 

lizards, chameleons , cows, bears, 
tiger-cubs, cats, antelopes, kan- 
garoos, wolves, ducks, pelicans, 
canaries, other bird> nod uihur 

An especially mirthful history 
is that of three full-grown t milk- 
giving cows, which one of the 
Canadian regiments actually 
adopted as iS mascots/' This 
was a field artillery organ iza- 
tion ? and the men found the 
ownerless bovines on the 
countryside in France. The 
Canadians treasured these cows 
highly, but there was some 
difficulty about adopting 
them as mascots* The ki brass- 
hats " higher up thought they 
were too cumbersome. It was 
then observed that cows were 
very useful things to have 
around batteries of artillery, 
an air of peace and tranquillity to the 
countryside, for, no matter what hap- 
pened, no matter how near the exploding 
guns and shells they were, these vows 
never even looked up ? but went quietly 
along with their grazing. The noise 
bothered them not at all. and their quiet 
mien was calculated to dereive the 
enemy as to gun positions. So the 
Canadians were permitted to keep the 
tows. But there came a time when 
the particular battery to which thev 
were attached had to 3>e hastilv removed 
from one point to another. The battery 
was obliged to make quick work of it, 
and there was a deal of trouble in taking 
the cows along. When, later, another 
shift of the guns was necessary, the 



Thev lent 

same difficulties were encountered, the cows 
again refusing to be hurried. It was then 
seen that they would have to be given 
up. One of them was traded for a case of 
Scotch whisky, and another for a quantity 
of fine French wine. The third, at last 
accounts, was still in the market, awaiting 
a good offer. 

One of the quaintest mascots actually at 
the Front is a little pig that has made his home 
in a Canadian officers' mess. He follows the 
mess orderlies all over the place^ moves from 
the vicinity of the kitchen only when the food 
is carted into the dining-rooms, and squeals 
fearfully whenever there is anything to eat 
within sight or smelh He is an intelligent 
animal, and has come to know personally 
the various officers of the mess, running 
toward them and recognizing them when 
they return to their quarters. 

On board the battleship Prince George, 
which saw much service in the Dardanelles, 
one of the mascots is a hen, It is claimed that 
this hen has been under fire more than thirty 

times, a n d 
never seems t 1 
mind it at all. 
She lays eg^s 
w i t h consider- 
able regularity, 
and has one 
c h ick. The 
sailors say of 
her : "She lays 
eggs with the 
shells outside, 
while we lay 
guns with the 
shells inside." 




vk vf\A 









*Go be printed on 
the back °f a 
'Private View 
ticket at the 
lloyal Jlcademy. 

MAX and 


OR two nours we had been 
walking, she and I, through 
the endless halls of paintings. 
We were about to enter the 
doorway of another when she 
murmured :- 
" Why, we ve seen this 
room before," 
Great was my astonishment. 
•' What ! " I thought " What J Why, she 
must have been looking at the pictures 1 Nay, 
she must have looked at them with such 
attention that she can recognize them at a 
glance ! And to think that I took her for a 
nighty little creature exquisite certain!}, but 
without a thought in life except for frocks 
and frills ! To think that I imagined that it 
was merely to enjoy a society function that 
she came with me to-day ! Truly, our ideas 
of women are altogether foolish, altogether 

mistaken, altogether " 

She cut short my meditations 
" Yes, I am perfectly certain we have seen 
this room already. I recognize it by the fat 
lady sitting in the same place on the lounge 
yonder, with such a sweet white feather in 
her hat 1 " 



Old fogey I creep from my favourite chair, 
And wearily climb the familiar stair ; 
Before I turn in I go down on my knees, 
And pray from my heart to the &eer who sees ; 
For well I remember the two that are past. 
God grant that the one that is here be the last ! 

1. A name with a hint of a lady who sketched, 
And, further, the gods in the gallery fetched. 

2. Society group it adorns— but before 

You name it a very good shot you must score. 

3. Safe home ! and within to the fisherman's hail 
An answering eluer as he lowers his sail. 

4. A word you will Burely unsuitable think, 
When found by the aid of a fortieth wink. 

6. Of Kultur a gentle reminder has been ; 
Inset is a point to be felt or be seen. 

6. No terror it signals, brave Poilu, to thee ; 
Thy guardian angel is easy to see. 



1. Useful for landing, and in me 
A spar as well as fair you see. 

2. The glowing East will show to you. 
With my departure, what is blue. 

3. Should he be lacking, there's no doubt 
A sale cannot be carried out. 

4. When this arrives, let's hope it may 
Point to the close of happy day. 

5. One name of him whose fame was made 
By mastery of light and shade. 

6. A story should, to make it clear. 
Not endless be, as it is here. 

7. One in this animal may spot 
Old Johnny who existed not. 

W. B. C. 

Two golden rules : Regarding pelf. 
You should not keep it all yourself ; 
And, then, offenders be not hard on, 
For often it is beet to pardon. 

Answers to Acrostics 22 and 23 should be addressed 
to the Acrostic Editor, The Strand Magazine, South* 
ampton Strut, Strand, London, W.C., and must arrive 
not later than by the first post on February 1th. 

Two ansioers may be sent to ewry light. 

Notes.— Light 2. Elsin- 
ore. 3. The word grave 
comes within the word end. 
4. Diap-ason. 7. The an- 
swer is buried in the second 
line ; the word contains 
" ample " ; when the whole 
of any goods cannot be 
shown, samples arc given. 


Answer to No. 


1. N 

y a n z 


2. E 



3. E 

ng r a v e 


4. D 

l a 


6. L 

a t i n 


6. E 

v e c t i o 


7. S 




Tke Lighter Side of Hospital Life. 


Illustrated by Thomas Henry. 

HEY took him to the hos- 
pital, and of course he died." 
Without knowing it the 
speaker was a humorist. 
For, if the hopeless cases 
which die within forty-eight 
hours of reaching the hos- 
pital be left out of the reckoning, the- death- 
rate in hospitals is below that of cases treated 
elsewhere. But the saying connotes a not 
uncommon view held by the man, and especi- 
ally by the woman, in the street. " He went 
into the hospital," said another unconscious 
humorist, " where his life was in great danger." 
In some persons the very name, hospital, causes 
a tremor. These timorous souls fail to take 
a broad view. They do not grasp the whole 
truth. They forget that between clouds of 
suffering, tragedy, and sorrow there are 
bright spaces through which buoyant humour 
and merry laughter dart their cheering beams^ 
But all the patients do not come direct 
to the wards. Some come by way of the 
accident receiving-room, others filter through 
the out-patient department. In the out- 
patient room foregather men of all sorts 
and conditions and folk of every colour, from 
the anaemic girl, white as a sheet, to the 
bluff countryman with red, shining face ; 
from the tawny Asiatic to the ebon negro. 

And some of the white-skinned ones are 
almost black, so black as almost to warrant 
the truth of the story of the nurse who, after 
scrubbing one of them for a good half- hour, 
came to a shirt. One woman with a bad leg 
refused to show the sound one to the doctor, 
who wished to compare the two limbs. The 
doctor insisted, and the cause of the woman's 
reluctance was disclosed. Not expecting to 
have both limbs examined, she had washed 
only the afflicted one. 

The doctors in their consulting-rooms have 
to be prepared for the incursion of too- 
voluble ladies, like one who explained her 
daughter's ailments somewhat as follows : — 
" She's been ill, on and off, nineteen weeks 
come last Whit -Sunday. It's palpitation. 
Stomach presses on t' liver, liver presses on 
t' lungs, lungs presses on t' 'eart, and causes it 

to palpitate. She's that short of puff she 
doesn't know what to do. She's had balm- 
tea, and camomile, and Turkey rhubarb, and 
other strengthening things, but she gets 
worse instead of better. And as for eating, 
she pecks like a sparrow, and I've tempted 
her with sausage and polony and pork-pie, 
and I spent one-and-fourpence on a bottle 
of t' best port wine and put three-penn'orth o' 
qui-nine in it, but none of 'em does her any 
good, and I'm feared she's in a decline, or 
something o' that sort. I don't know what 
lasses is made of. It didn't used to be so in 
my young days. Now, Ellen Ann, thou must 
tell him how thou feels." 

This too-eloquent lady was not a patient . m 
or her flow of irrelevance could have been 
checked by the simple device of asking her 
to put out her tongue. The doctor finds it 
necessary to look at the tongues of such 
talkers more than once. 

Next comes a woman with a threadbare, 
dingy shawl over her head, dragging an 
unwilling, down-at-heel urchin. 

" He's poorly altogether," the woman 

" How long has he been so ? " 

" A long time, doctor ; to tell you the 
truth, he's never been really strong." 

" What did he begin with ? " 

" Weakness, fair down weakness." 

" Where was the weakness ? " 

" All over, doctor ; fair down weakness all 
over. Now, Michael, show the doctor your 
tongue." As the woman tries to drag the 
boy nearer, Michael resists in a way more 
suggestive of strength than weakness. 

44 You shall have a tonic for him," the 
doctor says, after he has examined the boy. 

44 A what, doctor ? " 

" A tonic." 

" What's that ? " 

" Something to give him strength and make 
him eat." 

" Faith, don't give him nothing to make 
him eat any more! It's little enough we 
have, and he ates more nor his father and me 
put together., Indeed, I think it's that makes 
him so weak." 

a I I I .' I 1 1 




" Get this at the dispensary/' orders the 
doctor, holding out the prescription and 
turning to the next patient. 

lt I want a note for the school as well, 

1( I can't give you a note." 

" What will I do, then ? The lad is nut 

" And how is the pain in your head ? M 

" No better." 

" Did you take the tablets I gave you for 

" I got them, and dissolved one of them in 
water every night, and washed my head 
with it, but it didn't do a bit of good!" 


fit to go to school, he's so weak, and if I don't 
get a nute the Board will summons me." 

" The hoy is quite fit to go to school." 

" No, doctor. Every time I send him he's 
that ill I haven't the heart to make him go, 
and if you'd give me but a line the Board man 
would take the word of a nice, kind gentleman 
like you when he won't take mine." 

M Next/* cries the doctor, waving her away. 

" What will I do, then ? " pleads the 

" Next," reiterates the doctor, 

" Well, doctor, will you give him a pair of 
flannels ? For the lad has hardly a scrap 
of shirt to his back*" 

The woman went away with the order for 
the flannels, and later was fined at the polire- 
court for neglecting to send Michael to school. 
The object of her visit to the hospital was to 
secure a medical certificate to enable her to 
defeat the impending summons. 

Another patient was an overdressed young 
woman who told a circumstantial story of 
a wolf in her inside. Every time she had 
anything to eat the wolf came to the top of 
her throat and devoured the food she herself 
ought to have received. 

by Google 

The next patient was a youth carrying one 
hand in a sling and in the other a small bkiod- 
stained parcel, 

" My hand got caught in the machine 
yesterday," he explained, t£ and one of my 
fingers was taken off. Here it is "—and with 
the help of the mutilated hand he unrolled 
the parcel he carried. Carefully wrapped in 
a linen cloth was a finger, i( I've brought it 
with me so that you can stitch it on again ! " 

This not very unusual incident is scarcely 
so tragic as the request of a native woman, 
who came to an up- country Indian hospital 
w r ith her nose preserved in a bottle of spirit. 
In a fit of jealousy her husband had cut it 
off. She went away greatly disappointed on 
learning that she could not have the nose 
replaced. But perhaps her case was more 
hopeful than that of the youth who brought 
the finger, for doctors can make new noses 
of flesh and blood t but can supply only 
wooden hands and fingers* 

" Doctor/' said another out-patient, M I 
shall have to give up taking the medicine, 
though it has done me a power of good," 

" Whv ? " 

"Well, you'^iWiiffiflETwho live in the 




room under mine say they won't stand it any 

tl But it has nothing to do with them/' 

" You forget , doctor, I think. Don't you 
remember you told mc to take it two nights 
running and skip the third— and I've 
followed your instructions exactly, 
Tlir folks underneath grumbled a bit 
about the running, but it was the 
skipping that got their dander up." 

One hears much of bad backs in the 
out-patient room. But the anatomical 
transposition complained of by one 
patient was certainly unusual. 

11 It's my back , doctor, my poor old 
back. But I know how it is," the 
woman explained. " I'm run down, 
and whenever I get run down my 
back always comes to the front.*' 

But let us come to the in-patients , 
those whose cases are serious enough 
to need treatment in the wards. Here 
the latest, most up-to-date treatment 
is adopted. This must have been 
known to the man who came to the 
hospital because his wife's sister had 
died there, and that gave him con- 

In hospitals a systematic record of 
the cases is kept. Their condition on 

admission, symptoms, progress, and any facts 
likely to throw light on their illnesses are duly 
noted. To fathom the causes of the illnesses it 
is often necessary to know from what diseases 
other members of the family have suffered. 

bl My father went to chapel and got pew- 
monia," one woman declared, 

(t Well, you see, doctor," explained another, 
" my brother was a very careless man. He 
suffered dreadful from cold feet* They 
settled on his chest. He never got over it." 
Another said he was not quite sure what his 
mother died from, but he knew the doctors 
" had a con sola t ion , and found it was some- 
thing eternal." 

One man explained that his father broke 
his leg. and the marrow from the bone got 
into his brain. But the most astounding 
assertion was that of the man who assured 
the questioner that his father underwent a 
post-mortem examination. " When we knew 
that," he added, " we felt sure he could not 
get over it." 

In hospitals attached to medical schools 
students accompany the visiting doctors 
round the wards, and are encouraged to 
express their opinions both of the diseases 
the patients suffer from and the treatment 
to be adopted. A surgeon at one hospital, 
having explained to the students gathered 
round the bed the nature of the ailment of 
the patient before them, concluded by asking 
if it was a case for operation. Half-a-dozen 
opinions, all against operation, were elicited. 

= I*M OFT 





" I don^t agree/' the surgeon observed. 
" I shall operate to-morrow,'* 

" You won't," said the subject of these 
remarks, jumping out of bed. *' It's six to 
one against. Fm off." 

On another occasion a celebrated physician 
was describing to his class of students the 
line of treatment for the patient in the bed 
before them. " We shall find," he concluded, 
f< by the time of our next visit that the 
patient will be well." 

Rut, alas ! When the physician and his 
troop of admiring students came a few days 
later to see the effects of the remedies, the 
patient had just died. 

" It is as I said/ 1 commented the physician. 
(L He died cured." 

It was of this physician that a man said, 
" I worship the ground he walks on." 

(i Why? Did he cure you ? " 

" No ; he told me I must never work 

Food and drink have a large share in 
promoting the general well-being, During 
illness they are especially important* 

" Is your appetite good?" 4 a patient 
was asked. 

"I eat fairly well/' was the answer, 
* ( but Fm not gorgeous." To many of the 
patients it seems that nothing less than 
solid slabs of beef and mutton enable one 
to be u gorgeous." 

bi Fve had rice pudding and milk and 
eggs and chicken and beef- tea and bread 
and butter, hut Fve had nothing to eat/' 
moaned one hospital in-patient. 

Another man, when asked what he 
drank, replied : — 

" I leaves it to you, sir; hut if I have 
any choice Fd like spiced rum/' 

Occasionally one meets jrftB r^fW? [ 

characters who live upon hospitals. To 
a hospital where I was house-surgeon came a 
man with a large tumour at the lower end of 
the thigh-bone. He was admitted as an in- 
patient, as it was obvious he could not be 
cured unless the tumour was removed by 
operation. After consultation the doctor 
decided to operate. The man's consent had 
to be obtained. He said he could not make 
up his mind. Might he think the matter over 
for a day or two ? He was granted time to 
come to a decision, but was so slow in reaching 
it that at last he was told that if he would not 
agree to operation he would be discharged. 
He pleaded for longer, A time limit was fixed. 
When that expired he had decided not to 
be operated on T and left the hospital I dis- 
covered afterwards that the man had been in 
three other hospitals in adjacent towns, where 
he had acted in the same way. No doubt 
when he was discharged from our- hospital he 
wended his way to another, and made use of 
his tumour to get free board and lodging 
until such time as the hospital authorities 
could put up with his presence no longer, 

In an English hospital it was necessary to 
remove a tumour from a woman patient. 

i4 I shall have to be opened, then ? " she 
asked, when the nature of the operation had 
been explained to her. 

14 That will be necessary." 

" Then our circuit minister must be 

When the undesirability of this was pointed 
out to her she exclaimed : — 

" I shall not be opened unless he is there. 
If I am to be opened. I will be opened with 

11 < j 

choice Mnavawkea R u M ." 



Author of '* Britigt Tactics? "Bridge Maxims? " Comfkte Bria^c? "Royal Auction Bridge? tic. 

N English writer, A leister Crow- 
ley, tit present residing in New 
York, was spending the Hummer 
at a camp in the woods of New 
Hampshire, where they w hi led 
away the evenings playing 
auction. One day, after innu- 
merable bids had gone wrong, 
owing to the trumps being all in one hand 
against the declarer, it occurred to him that 
the game would be vastly improved by borrowing 
an idea from solo whist, in which the partners 
are selective. 

On his return to town he laid the matter 
before Frank Crowninshield, the editor of the 
American magazine Vanity Fair, who saw its 
possibilities at once, and then I was called in 
to give my opinion of it. 

I found that there were many details which 
required rounding out and adjusting, and spent 
some weeks in discussing the matter with expert 
auction players, playing it with all sorts and 
conditions of men, not forgetting the ladies/ 
who were delighted with it, the final result 
being that we evolved a game that bids fair to 
supplant auction as completely as that game 
did bridge, or bridge killed whist. The reasons 
for this belief are as follows. 

There have always been three or four great 
objections to auction bridge, but they have 
been submitted to because no one seemed able 
to suggest anything better. The first and 
most important is the forced partnership of 

rnismated hands and the impossibility of getting 
rid of an uncongenial partner if the cards decide 
that he shall sit opposite you. 

The original declaration may be perfectly 
sound, but dummy's cards do not fit, and the 
result is a disappointment. The cards you 
hoped to find in the dummy are with the oppo- 
nents. Then, again, the original or other bid 
may not be sound, but you cannot prevent your 
optimistic partner from making it, and you 
will have to sit there and see him go down 
several hundred points, with no consolation 
but the privilege of starting a row after the 

Another objection is the repeated failure of 
perfectly legitimate bids and the consequent 
predominance of scores abo% r e the line, which 
leads naturally to another serious objection, the 
f requeue}' of long-drawn-out rubbers, in which 
one pile of losses simply offsets another pi]e, 
so that the rubber does not amount to much 
after all, although it may have taken an hour 
or more to play. This is such a common 
occurrence that a law has been introduced for 
the benefit of those who cannot keep awake 
long enough to see the end. 

Statistics that have been compiled from a 
very large number of recorded rubbers played 
in the trading clubs show that the contract fails 
in about four times out of every nine deals. 
This naturally leads to considerable friction 
between partners, each of whom blames the 
other for his \va*i.t of judgment, or something 




Of that sort, whereas the bid may have been 
perfectly legitimate upon general principles, and 
the failure due to the unfortunate distribution 
of the cards. It sometimes happens that one 
player at the table will have a shocking run of 
bad luck, and another will manage to cut him 
for a partner every time. 

A still further objection to auction is the 
absolute impotence of weak hands. It is not 
at all uncommon for a player to have worth- 
less hands, without a bid or a support in them, 
for a whole evening, or even for a week or two 
in succession, and to find himself completely at 
the mercy of the strong hands against him, 
which pile up games, honour scores, slams, and 
rubbers at an alarming rate. Pirate bridge 
removes all these objections at one stroke, 
although the fundamental principle of the game 
is simplicity itself. 

Seats and cards are cut for as usual, and the 
dealer has the privilege of making the first bid 
or passing, the rank of the suits and the value 
of the bids being the same as at auction. 

As soon as a bid is made each player in turn 
to the left may either " accept " or pass, but 
no one can make any higher bid or double until 
the first bidder has been accepted by someone 
as a partner. It does not matter which of the 
three accepts, the partnership is formed without 
any change of their positions at the table. 

If no one accepts a bid it is void, and the 
player to the left of the rejected bidder can 
bid just as if no such bid had been made. If 
it is a higher bid that is not accepted, the bidding 
returns automatically to the previous bid and 

The moment a bid is accepted the bidding is 
reopened, and each in turn to the left of the 
accepter may bid higher, double, or pass. Even 
the bidder who has just been accepted may bid 
something else, a useful privilege if he has a 
two-suiter and wants to get the partner with 
the stronger help. The only player who cannot 
bid again until he is overcalled is the accepter. 

Let us suppose the points of the compass to 
indicate the positions of the four players, and 
that N deals and bids a spade. E and S both 
pass, but W accepts. N passes, but now E 
bids two hearts, which he could not do on the 
first round, as N's bid had not been accepted 
yet. S passes and W accepts. N has nothing 
more to say and E passes, but S now bids three 
clubs, which is accepted by N and doubled by E. 
When S passes, W bids three spades, accepted 
by N, and that ends it. 

The player who makes the final bid that is 
accepted becomes the declarer and plays the 
combined hands, no matter who first bid that 
suit. This greatly simplifies the matter of 
determining the declarer. The player who 
accepts becomes the dummy, but does not 
change his seat. The leader for the first trick 
is always the player to the left of the declarer, 
unless that person is the dummy, in which case 
the player to his left leads. The moment the 
first card is led dummy's hand is laid down 
face up, wherever it happens to be, to the right 

Digitized by GOOgle 

or left of the declarer, or opposite him. Here 
is the distribution of the cards in the bidding 
just described : — 

Hearts — 8, 7, 5. 
Clubs — Ace, king, 7. 
Diamonds — 5, 3. 
Spades— Ace, king, io, 6, 5. 

Hearts — King, u, 2. 
Clubs— 8. 
Diamonds-- Queen, 

knave, to, 8. 

Spades — Queen, knave, 

9t 4, 3- 

Hearts— Ace, queen, 

knave, 6, 3. 
Clubs— xo, 9, 4, > 
Diamonds — Ace, 7 6. 
Spade*— 8. 

Hearts — xo, 4. 

Clubs — Queen, knave, 6, 5, 2. 
Diamonds— King, 9, 4, 2. * 
Spades— 7, a. 

Although N first bid the spades, it was W's 
bid that was finally accepted by N, so that W 
plays the hand. E leads, and N's cards are 
laid down before S plays. The declarer then 
plays from his own hand and afterward from 
dummy. As will be readily seen, W must lose 
one heart and two diamonds, but wins a game, 
with five honours. 

If the position is examined it will be seen that 
E cannot go game in hearts unless he can induce 
W to accept him, but W prefers to play the hand 
instead of being an accepter, because the actual 
declarer is the only one that can score below the 
line toward game, his partner's points all going 
into the honour column. 

The result of the play on this hand would be 
scored as thirty-six below the line for W, with 
a line drawn under it to show a game won. 
Then he takes forty-five in honours and a bonus 
of a hundred for winning a game. W's accepter, 
N, scores the whole one hundred and eighty-one 
points in honours. When one player wins two 
games that ends the rubber, and he gets a 
hundred points for it, in addition to the regular 
hundred for winning a game, but his accepter 
does not share in this hundred rubber points. 

The scores are kept in four separate columns, 
the initials of the players at the top. At the 
end of the rubber the scores are all added up and 
the fractions thrown off, reducing the amounts to 
even hundreds or fifties, as may be the club 
custom. Suppose this is the final addition : — 

Jones. Smith. Brown. Green. 
190 426 58 286 

2 4 I 3 

There are then two ways to find the amounts 
each wins or loses. The simplest, once it is 
understood, is to call the lowest score nothing 
and deduct it from the others. Then add the 
winnings and place the total to the right. 
After multiplying each player's score by four, 
deduct the total of the winnings, thus : — • 

Jones. Smith. 
* 3 


2 s total 6 

4 times : 
less 6: 

+ 4 

+ 12 
- 6 


+ 8 

-2 +6 -6 +1 
Another way is to s«ttie each man's account 




with each of the others, one at a time, without 
throwing out the lowest score, thus : — 






+ 2 


+ i 

+ 1 



- 1 

- I 

+ i 


+ 2 

-2 +6 -6 +2 

Jones lost two to Smith, so we call Jones 
two minus and give Smith two plus. We do 
the same with Jones as compared to Brown, 
and then with Green ; then we go to Smith and 
Brown, and so on. 

On account of the accuracy of the information 
upon which all bids after the first are made, 
very few contracts are really risky in pirate 
bridge, unless a player deliberately takes a 
chance in order to save a game or rubber. The 
play is very fast. Six rubbers in two hours is 
not at all uncommon, and very few rubbers go 
more than five deals, the average among good 
players being three and a half. 

Among the novelties and attractions of the 
game are the varying position of the dummy 
and the ease with which an undesirable partner 
or unsafe bidder can be got rid of. Another 
point is the fact that no matter how often one 
passes a bid, there will always be a chance to 
bid again when it has been accepted, or if it is 

The first mistake the novice is likely to make 
is grabbing for the partner with the strong 
hand, so as to ride to victory on his coat-tails. 
This is impossible against good players, because 
the intended benefactor will shake you off. 
There are many opportunities to pick out the 
strong hand for a partner when the bidding has 
gone far enough, but the beginner is apt to be 
in too great a hurry. Take this distribution : — 

Hearts — King, knave, io, 6, 4. 

Clubs— 9, 4. 

Diamonds— 7. 

Spades— King, knave, 7, 6, 2. 

Hearts— Queen, 7, 5. 

Clubs— Ace, 8. 
Diamonds— Queen, 

10, 8, 3, 2. 
Spades— Ace, queen, 5, 



Hearts— 8, 2. 
Clubs — Knave, 10, 6, 
_. 3, 2. 

Diamonds — Knave, 

6, 5. 
Spades— 10, 8, 3. 

Hearts— Ace, 9, 3. 

Clubs— King, queen, 7, 5. 
Diamonds— Ace, king, 9, 4. 
Spades — 9, 4. 

N dealt and passed, not having the two sure 
tricks to justify an original bid. When E 
passed, S bid no trump and \V accepted. Now 
N bids the higher-valued of his two equal suits, 
spades, hoping that whichever of the no-trumpers 
held by S and W is the better suited to a spade 
make will accept him, but E jumps in and 
accepts, shutting them both out. Both S and 
W pass. They can kill that spade contract. 

In order to get rid of E, who he knows is not 
a desirable partner with two no-trumpers against 

them, N bids three hearts, and again E accepts. 
S now sees the situation and overcalls with 
four hearts, which N accepts, shutting out E, 
but when it gets round to W he bids four spades, 
knowing that N will accept him, and so the 
declaration originally planned by N is reached, 
in spite of the interference from E. It is a 
certain game hand in spades, but when it gets 
round to S he bids five hearts against W, and 
is accepted by N. They make five odd and four 

This is a good example of what happens all 
the time in playing pirate bridge. A player 
with a hand like N's is fishing for the partner 
that can make the best use of N's cards, and the 
best spade combination bids against the best 
heart combination. 

A very interesting feature of the new game 
is manoeuvring for the right to play the hand 
and score toward game and rubber, instead of 
accepting another player and helping him on his 
way to the rubber. The bidding on the following 
hand is illuminating, and the manner in which 
E managed it shows the possibilities of a hand 
that would be worthless at auction: — 

Hearts— King, queen, knave, 9, 5, 2. 
Clubs— 9. 

Diamonds — Ace, queen T knave, 8. 
Spades— 10, 5. 

Hearts— 10, 6. 
Clubs — King, queen, 

knave, 8, 6, 
Diamonds— 10. 
Spades — Queen, 9, 8, 

4, 3- 

Hearts— Ace, 7, 4, 3. 
Clubs— Ace, 10, 5, 4. 
Diamonds — 7, 5, 3, 2. 
Spades — 6. 

by Google 

Hearts— 8. 
Clubs— 7, 3, 2. 
Diamonds— King, 9, 6, 4. 
Spades— Ace, king, knave, 7, 2. 

N dealt and bid two hearts. He is fishing 
for a partner with strong cards in plain suits. 
E and S both pass, and W accepts. When 
N and E pass, S bids two spades, again accepted 
by W, who seemed anxious to accept everything 
that came along. Contrast his bidding to E's, 
who bides his time. N bid three hearts, E and 
S passing, accepted by W, and S went to three 
spades, when E passed for the fourth time, 
correctly guessing that W would again accept, 
and shut out N. 

But when N passed E saw his opportunity 
had come, and he bid four hearts, and was of 
course accepted by N. It is an easy game hand 
at hearts, but if S ventures any further with the 
spades he will go down, as N would lead his 
singleton club, ruff the next one, and lead a 
heart, getting another club ruff and making his 
ace of diamonds. 

There are many other pretty points about the 
game, but these should be enough to give one a 
general idea of its possibilities, although one 
has to play several rubbers to get into the spirit 
of it. A complete code of laws has been drawn 
up for the game, providing for the usual penalties, 
and the fifty for failing on a contract, etc., 
pretty much as in auction. 

Original from 



337.— THE FLY'S TOUR. 
I HAD a ribbon of paper, divided into squares on 
each side, as shown in the illustration. I joined the 


two ends together to make a ring, which I threw on 
the table. Later I noticed that a fly pitched on the 
ring and walked in a line over every one of the 
squares on both sides, returning to the point from 
which it started, without ever passing over the edge of 
the paper ! Its course passed through the centres of 
the squares all the time. How was this possible ? 

When recently visiting with a friend one of our 
hospitals for wounded soldiers, I was informed that 
exactly two- thirds of the men had lost an eye, three- 
fourths had lost an arm, and four-fifths had lost a leg. 
" Then," I remarked to my friend, " it follows that at 
least twenty-six of the men must have lost all three 
— an eye, an arm, and a leg." That being so, can you 
say exactly how many men were in the hospital ? It 
is a very simple calculation, but I have no doubt it 
will perplex a good many readers. 

If we want to describe a circle we use an instru- 
ment that we call a pair of compasses, but if we 
need a straight line we use no such instrument — 
we employ a ruler or other straight edge. In other 
words, we first seek a straight line to produce our 
required straight line, which is equivalent to using 
a coin, 'saucer, or other circular object to draw 
a circle. Now, imagine yourself to be in such a 
position that you cannot obtain a straight edge — 
not even a piece of thread. Could you devise a simple 
instrument that would draw your straight line, just as 
the compasses describe a circle ? It is an interesting 
abstract question, but, of course, of no practical value. 
We shall continue to use the straight edge. 

A correspondent asks the following question. 
Two ships sail from one port to another — a distance 
of two hundred knots — and return. The Mary Jane 
travels outwards at twelve knots an hour and returns 
at eight knots an hour, thus taking forty-one and 
two- third hours for the double journey. The Elizabeth 
Ann travels both ways at ten knots an hour, taking 
forty hours on the double journey. Now, seeing 
that both ships travel at the average speed of ten 
knots per hour, why does the Mary Jane take longer 
than the Elizabeth Ann f Perhaps the reader could 
explain this little paradox. 

A postcard was mutilated in the post, so that only 
the final letters — " cion " — of an important word 
remained. The context gave no clue. Can you 
find seven good English words ending in " cion," any 
one of which might be the one required ? We do not 
count obsolete words, nor old spelling like " physicion " 
and " halcion," nor do we count as different words 
those to which we prefix " non," " anti," etc. 

Solutions to Last Montr/ Puzzles. 

THE two distances given were fifteen miles and six 
miles. Now all you need do (and the rule applies 
to all such cases where the roads form a right-angled 

triangle) is divide fifteen by six and add two, which 
gives us four and a half ; then divide fifteen by four 
and a half and the result, three and one-third miles, is 
the required distance between the two points. 

33* •■ 

The illustration shows 
the very simple solution 
to this little puzzle. The 
land is divided into eight 
equal parts, each part 
containing three trees. 



The number is 45. 

The solution will be quite clear from the diagrams. 
The hand-holes are longer, but of considerably smaller 
area. I wanted to draw the reader's attention to the 
ambiguity of the term " oval." Though derived 
from the Latin ovum, an egg, yet the egg-shape (with 
one end larger than the other) is only one of many 
forms of oval, while some eggs are spherical in shape. 
If we speak of an ellipse — a conical ellipse — we are 

on safer ground, but 
we must note that 
al though every 
ellipse is an oval, every 
oval is not an ellipse. 
Strictly speaking, an 
oval is an oblong curvi- 
linear figure having two 
unequal diameters and 
bounded by a curve line 
returning into itself, 
and this includes the 
ellipse, but all other 
figures that approach 
towards the form of an 
oval, without neces- 
sarily having the pro- 
perties described, are 
termed oval. Thus mv 
solution involves the 
"pointed oval," known 
among architects as 
the " vesica piscis." 






















The diagram shows 
that a knight's path 
can be arranged with- 
o u t disturbing as 
many as six of the numbers. This is the maximum. 


The dancing must have begun at 59/irV minutes 
past ten, and the hands were noticed to have changed 
places at 541} J minutes past eleven — a short duration 
for the ball, but these queer things happen inPuzzleland! 

The answer is R and Y (" Randy," Lord Randolph 
Churchill) and T or Y, the Tory party to which he 
belonged. Note that we had to " indicate " the 
words, not " spell " them. 


% Playin 






Illustrated Vy J. A. SliepKerJ. 


E ? S only a dog, of course, 
but he didn't play the 

The subject of this re- 
mark, a small white fox- 
terrier of mixed breed, was 
skulking behind a barrel in 
the corner of a barn, a pink, damp-looking 
nose and two shamefaced eyes alone being 
visible. These were directed up at a soldier 
who, with two others fresh from the trenches, 
had just come back for their rest* The dog 
had preceded their en try , having been pro- 

pelled thither by ii 
kick from a thick, 

" What's the 
dog done, 
Sammy ? " de- 
manded, sympa- 
thetically, one of 
the party j a hefty 

" Done 1 Why, 
he's done the 
whole blooming 
British Army, 
that's what he's 
done. Ask Joe ; 
he'll tell you. You 
haven't heard, of course, not being in our 
little lot." 

The aggrieved one turned to the third 
member of the party, a North -country man 
like himself* 

i£ Tell him, Joe," he said, in a tone in which 
disgust was mingled with weariness. 

il Tell him yourself, Sammy," the latter 
replied, seating himself on the ground and 
arranging a camp cooker. u YouVe had 
most to do with the dog ; you feel it, nutu- 

' O 


rally, more than any of us* I won't say, 
though, that I ain't disappointed in him/' 
he added, musingly. 

Sammy swung round savagely in the direc- 
tion of the barrel. 


il Ugh-h-h-h ! Strafe him ! " he roared. 
The nose and eyes disappeared* 

11 You ask what he's done ! You see that 
dog ? " He pointed to the barrel. " Well, you 
can't, because he's ashamed to show his face. 
Anyhow, he's a traitor. He joined up to 
fight for King and Country ; 'listed, he did. 
'Twas on Salisbury Plain, He came out of 
the mist and rain one early morning. Nobody 





took him in with me. 

knew from where, a mangy little white cur. 
Starving he was. I fancy I can see him 
now, 'Twas my sentry-go. * Halt ! Who 
goes there ? 3 I shouted. And there was he^ 
grovelling and trawling towards me on his 
stomach. * Have you come to join up ? ' I 

said T stem and 
official, like a re- 
cruiting officer. 
Then he came 
and put his nose 
on my boot and 
licked mv hand. 
' Right*-o!' I 
says; * you're 
entered in the 
8th Blankshire 
Regiment, B 
Campan y.' I 
We cured his mange. 
We gave him the best there was, and soon 
you couldn't see a rib on him. We made a 
soldier of him in a week, Then we christened 
him ' Kitchener. 1 He stayed with us at 
Todford, where we were up to our eyes m 
mud and misery. He always headed the 
company on the march. He billeted with us 
at liournemouth all through the winter. 
*1 hen he came over 
from g Hlighty ' 
with us to fight the 
Boches* I allow 
he's done his bit 
this year. 1 won't 
deny that. Last 
night, however, he 
turns rounds and 
fights for all he's 
worth on the other 
side, And you 
ask me what he's 

done ! Lor' lumme ! " And Sammy sniped. 
While Sammy was speaking the head had 
again been cautiously protruded from behind 
the barrel. 

Jock, a typical Scot of the Argyllshire 
Regiment, looked down at the supplicating 
eves of the culprit. 
* u Why ain't he dead ? " he asked. 

M He would have been if I hadn't been so 
tired/' said Sammy, unbuckling his haversack 
and depositing it on the ground, 

11 1 thought you chaps were terrible taken 
up with your mascot," ventured Jock, who, 
with the others, had begun preparing their 
evening meat, 

" So we were— leastwise till last night. 
My eye ! " Sammy's feelings overcoming him 
afresh, he swung round and shook his fist in 


the direction of the barrel. ** You wait, my 
beauty ; you wait, my Lord Kitchener ; there's 
going to be a court-martial on you, and it'll 
only be to find out whether you get an ounce 
of lead in you or a cord round your neck ; 
and Vm thinking it'll be a cord." 

Once more the head retreated. 

" Tell Jock all about it T Sammy/* said 
the other Blankshire man, pulling out a 
cigarette and lighting it at the stove. " You 
see, Jock/' he added, apparently in excuse 
for the brutal kick the dog had received, 
" being as how Sammy found him, you might 
say he looks on him somewhat as a son." 

*' Why j they are like fairy- tales that I've 
heard about yon dog/' exclaimed the Scotch- 
man. " Out men are proper fed up with 
him — jealous of him. One of your chaps 
told me only the other day how he had bitten 
chunks out of half the German armv." 



11 So he has/ 1 growled Sammy. 

" I've seen him myself in the trenches/* 
went on the Scot, " swaggering with a medal 
at his neck and caring no more for shells 
than for rats. What's the dog done that 
you've turned against him so? That's what 
I want to know/' 

Moving towards the barrel he peered behind 
it, *' Come out, mon. and Jet us have a look 
at you/' he said, kindly, 

11 Leave the dog alone ; he'll come out 
when he smells the food/' 

As he spoke Sammy turned over the bacon 
in the pan he was holding over the stove. 
This accentuated the frizzling sound of the 
frying, and soon the whole bam was filled 
with an appetizing odour, 

Sammy's prediction proved correct ; the 
nose once more appeared, and with evident 
misgivings the little white dog crept out* 

" He don't look much class/' remarked 
Jock, from 




" Tisn't class as does things— always/' 
said Sammy, irritably, " I don't blame 
him for his want of class. 'Tisn't that ; 
what I blame him for is going bade on his 
friends who had a pride in him." 


Kitchener had approached slowly, submis- 
sion in his every movement, his eyes all the 
while fixed on his master. 
"Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" 

Sammy growled 
down at him, At 
the same time he 
held out his hand. 
With a bound the 
dog jumped at him, 
his whole body 
exhibiting frantic 
signs of joy. 

"Lie down!" 
shouted Sammy, 
waving his arms. 
4t Don't you make 
any mistake, I 
haven't forgiven 
you yet. You lie 
there till the evi- 
dence has been 
heard against you. 
We three will be 
the court-martiaL I will put the case before 
you chaps, and sentence shall go by that." 

Kitchener retired, disconcerted, to a heap 
of straw by the wall which was to serve as 
the soldiers 5 beds. There he lay with his 


nose on his paws. From time to time he 
cast a sidelong glance at one or the other, as 
if he knew that his fate was hanging in the 

Sammy took a drink at his mug of tea, 
and with the first mouthful of bacon he 
began : — 

" You, Joe, know all about it. You, 
Jock, know too what a lot we thought of 
this dog of ours. But you don't know how 
he repaid us last night for all the trouble we 
have had with him, As you were saying, he 
cared no more for shell-fire than for rats. 
He loved it — 'twas music to him. His 
favourite place was looking over the parapet, 



blinking as the hullets whizzed past him. 
Jack Johnsons just made him bark ; machine- 
guns he growled at ; trench mortars he took 
no notice of ; whizz-bangs, I must say, he 
did not like. Do you know why ? He 
stopped a bit from one once ; it got him in 
the right hind leg. He has hated them ever 
since. We doctored him up and cured him 
of that, too* Every day his wound was 
dressed and bandaged up. He always went 
out with us, of course, just as before, except 
that we had to carry him. We fixed him up 
comfortable-like in a dug-out, where he could 
hear the music. In a few weeks he was as 
fit as a fiddle again, hut he never forgave those 
whizz-bangs. He limps a bit now, as you 
may have noticed. But, bless your heart, 
he just seemed to hate those Boches worse 




for all they were worth. I must ( ome tf> last 
night, though, I don't like talking about it, 
you know, Here, you s Joe, finish the tale. 
You know it— you heard it from the Cheshire 
chaps , who saw it all." 

" No, no, Sammy; he's your dog, orjeast- 
wise, you 'listed him in our company. You 
tell it just as they told us." 


than ever, and was always the first over 
when the whistle sounded* Right in front 
of the best of us, he would lead the charge. 
When we got up to a trench my Lord Kitchener 
had always got his teeth into a I Inn, and 
many a bayonet thrust he has dodged." 

At the sound of his name the little dog 
raised his head from the straw and directed 
an eager glance at Sammy, 

" You lie quiet/' said the latter, throwing 
him a chunk of bacon. * £ Maybe you'll hide 
your head under the straw when I come to the 
next part of the story." 

Kitchener ? having gulped down the morsel, 
lowered his nose to its former position and 
heaved a deep sigh. 

M You can sigh ! You know what's coming. 
Blest if I don*t believe dogs are more human 
than Christians ! He knows every word I'm 
saying, I'll be jiggered if he doesn't, and he's 
trying to influence the Court by playing the 
injured innocent. It's no go, my beauty," 
he added, throwing him another piece of his 
supper, " Your crime is too black— traitor 


in war time. It's awful. Did you ever hear 
how he took those prisoners ? Lor' bless you, 
he's that quick he does things while we are 
thinking of them. Why, once when our 
chaps got up with bim T if they didn't find him 
standing over four crouching Huns, in the 
corner of a trench, with their hands up above 
their heads^ shouting ' Mercy, 

K -" d! ' 


Sammy finished off his tea. 
"Well; well, if I must. Here, Kitchener, 
finish up this first, it'll. help you to hear your 
sentence without fainting/' Saying which lie 
emptied the scrapk that he had over on the 
floor. Kitchener pounced on them eagerly, 
nosing around afterwards to make sure that 
nothing was left. 

"it doesn't seem to have 
interfered with his appetite/ 4 
said the Scotchman. " I've 
always heard that condemned 
prisoners make a good break- 
fast on the morning of their 

' " Well, it was last night, as I 
was saying, that it happened/' 
went on Sammy. * We were 
all waiting for the time ti5 be over the para- 
pet and at them. As you know, we had 
been told that at a certain hour an attack 
was to be made on the Boches' trench 
opposite. No sooner did the whistle sound 
than over we went, and as usual that beauty 
was right in front, his tail stiff and with a 
swing on him like a racehorse." There was 
pride in Sammy's voice as he exclaimed, *' My 
aunt ! you should see him charge. You 
never did, did you, Jock ? You should. 
It's a treat, I can tell you* You'd think he 
was going for a butcher's shop after a month's 
fast, I lost'i^ktabfn&lito very soon. I got 




to the front trenches ks soon as most of them, 
and had a little business with a Boche or two, 
and then on for the second lot, and so on to 
the third. I saw nothing of the dog and heard 
nothing of him till we'd straightened up our 
little lot and cleared out the rat-holes of 
the Huns. Then I came across one of the 
Cheshires, ' Seen your dog ? ' says he. 

41 'Nothing happened to him, I hope? 1 I 
said, nervously, for I feared he'd got his 
ticket at last, ' Where is 
he ? J I asked. 

" s He's (Jown along the 
first line/ says he. l And 
a nice to-do we've had 
with him. We found him 
standing over a Boche, 
and 1)0 wouldn't let a 
living soul go near him.' 

" " Took him a prisoner, 
I suppose, and wanted all 
the credit for it/ said I. 

i[ * Not much/ says the 
Cheshire, * The Boche had 
had as much as was good 
for him — had it in the 
chest. Our stretcher-bearers wanted to pick 
him up, hut your dog wouldn't have any of it ; 
his hair was all bristles, and he showed his 
teeth at them and growled like a wild beast/ 

" i He didn't know you chaps, that was it ; 
he was keeping his prisoner for the Blank- 
shires/ I said. 

H *l don't think so/ *aid the Cheshire chap. 
1 I believe he would have served you the 
same if you had been there/ 

" * Showed his teeth at us ? 

<w I believe he would 
have/ .said the Cheshire* 
1 The Boche could just 
speak, jxnd that was. all* 
'* My feetle white dog that 
I left in -England, w^at 
are you doing out here ? M 
he whispered between his 
short breaths, He put 
his hand to his eyes as if 
he thought he must be 
dreaming. Then he 
stroked the dog, and all 
the time the dot* was lick- 
ing him all over and fawn- 
ing over him as if he 
were a litter of puppies. 
Our chaps/ said the 
Cheshire, ' tried time and again to get to the 
Boche to take him to the dressing-station. 
Not a bit of it ; that dog of yours spit fire 
every time they tried to get near* In the 

■ jilized byViOOgUT 


I said. 


VoL he ~t* 

end they had to get a rope and they lassoed 
him, and they've got him down there at the 
back. The Boche died before they got him 
to the doctor's/ That's what the Cheshire 
chap told me. What do you think of that ? " 
added Sammy, looking around, 

" Did he get his teeth into any of the 
Cheshires ? " asked the Scot, 

1 I should think he did ■ put four men of 
the British Army out of action before they 
roped him in/' 

1 They told me," said 
Joe, the other Bknkshire 
man, "" that before the 
Boche went sleepy he told 
the stretcher-bearers how 
he'd had to leave England 
in a hurry to come over 
and fight for the Kaiser, 
and that he had no time to 
arrange about his dog," 

'* Did he ; now ? " said 
Sammy, sarcastically ad- 
dressing the dog. " Do you 
hear that ? That's why you 
were left behind. Your 
Kaiser didn't want you. You'd have looked 
a treaty you would, in a tin hat with a spike 
on the top. They might have given you an 
iron cross— who knows?" And Sammy 
laughed derisively, 

Kitchener apparently ignored this sarcasm y 
for he was busy at the moment Viciously 
repelling a flank attack somewhere beneath 
the fur at the end of his spine. 

" Xow you have heard the evidence, 
prisoner/' Sammy added, '* what have you 
got to say ? " 

The dog's only response 
was to cast a furtive glance 
at the soldier, and at the 
same time to dig his 
muzzle deeper into his 
fur and chew at his un- 
seen enemy. 

The Scotchman had 
risen to his feet as Sammy 
finished the story, and had 
strolled over to the oppo- 
site corner of the barn, 
A coil of rope was lying on 
the ground : this he picked 
up and, throwing one end 
over a beam overhead , 
began tying a noose in it. 
Sammy leaned forward and looked intently 
at him, 

l " What are you doing there, Jock ? " he 
asked, uneai^cginal from 



" Just as well to have things ready," replied 
the Scot, going on with his task. 

"' What are you doing, man, anyway ? " 
Sammy repeated, and his tone was angry 
and anxious. 

" We shall be wanting this, I'm thinking," 
replied Jock, shaking the rope. " We don't 
want any traitors in the camp." 

" You stow that, Jock, you stow that. 
You're too quick. The dog thought he was 
doing the right thing, perhaps." 

'* Fighting for the Boches. eh ? Defending 
one of them against the British Army ! " As 
Sammy turned away disgustedly, Jock 
looked at the other Blankshire man and 

" He was the dog's master before we had 
him," put in Sammy, humbly. 

" Would you have fought for a Hun, 
then, if vou had been in his service before the 
war ? " * 
Sammy was posed for a moment. 
44 Yes. if I hadn't known he was a Hun," 
he replied, at last. Then he flared out 
angrily : " You're jealous of the dog, Jock ; 
that's it, you're jealous of him. You'd 
like to see him put out of the way, that's 
about the size of it." 

" I wasn't the first to talk of hanging, 
anyway," answered the Scot, with a laugh. 

" And I haven't heard that you were asked 
to be the executioner, neither," said Sammy, 
sharply. He went on in an apologetic vein : 
" The poor beast was left without hearth or 
home — he came and joined up as every 
derent soul should do — man or dog. What 
could he have done more ? " 

" Seems to me, 
Sammy, you're 
judge, jury, and all 
the blooming 
Court ! " exclaimed 

"Well, he's my 
dog, ain't he ? " 

Jock pulled the 
rope down and 
threw it into the 
corner again. 

" What have you 

got to say for the 

brute, then ? Do 

you think hanging 

too good for 

him ? Is t h a t 


" Perhaps so," 
replied Sammy. 
"Still, there is 


this to be said for the dog: this here Hun 
lived in England — he talked our lingo, he 
ate our food, he drank our beer, maybe the 
dog took him for a Britisher." Then, turning 
to Kitchener: — 

" Prisoner at the bar, what have you got 
to sav to that ? " - 



While this latter discussion had been 
taking place Kitchener had sat up on his 
haunches, facing the Court, his head cocked 
on one side : he was evidently not displeased 
with the summing-up of the judge. When 
addressed he gave a short, sharp bark and 
his whole body stiffened. 

" You say that is. so? Very good.' 9 

Sammy leaned on. his elbow in the straw 
and assumed a judicial tone. 

" Prisoner at the bar," he began, " you 
have been found guilty of going back on your 
friends. You have had a fair trial, and you 
have been found guilty. The decision of the 
Court is that you be tied up by the neck. Do 
you hear ? Tied up by the neck in this ham 
and kept here all the time we are in the 
trenches, next time. Hark!" he exclaimed, 
raising his hand. " Do you hear the guns ? 
It will be like that." 

Kitchener appeared to be listening. 

" Far off they will sound. You'll know 
that we are there, and you won't be in the 
scrum. Worse than hanging, do you say ? " 

The little dog came and put his head on 
the soldier's knee and looked up into his face. 

" Bless me if there ain't tears in your eyes, 
Kitchie! Here, hand me a fag, Joe; I'm 
dying for a smoke." 

He stretched out his hand. Joe handed 
him the cigarette. 

11 He's only a dog, of course," said the 
Scotchman, echoing Sammy's words and 
winking at Joe. " He's only a dog, of course, 
but he didn't play the game." 

" I don't know about that," said Sammy. 









^^^^1 w^ 

^*£*& - * *- ■ - - 




ttflji*f*J0Ai ftu S. MiMnhtimvr d Co., «, i'lerktnwttt R 


W ELL may, per ha p s , 
best be described as the 
Kate Green a way of to- 
day. But whereas Kate 
Greenaway beca m e 
known almost entirely 
through her illustrations to children's 
books , the more recent developments of 
pictorial art have given the " Attwell " 
children a much wider scope. Who 
has not seen them on advertisement 

+1 A 

hoardings ^ pic- 
ture postcards, 

and popular <> UB AND fido." 

colour prints ? 

Nevertheless it was as an illustrator to 
children's books that Miss Attwell made her 
MbuU Almost before she was out of the 
nursery she was writing verses and making 
drawings to illustrate them. At school the 
habit developed into an enthusiastic pastime, 
ier schoolfellows providing her with plenty 
jf u subjects/' Friendly appreciation of 
these efforts led her to attend Heatherley's 
well-known art school, but she stayed there 
only long enough to obtain a thorough 
training of drawing from " life." She feared 
the effect of academic routine upon her 



Th4 OappiatU oj I lYujFiftii, 


individual style of wbrkj and left the art 
school after a few months to seek and readily 
obtain employment in 
illustration of 
children's books, 
came at once. 
" I have no story of 
early struggles to tell 
vnu.* 7 she siys almost 
apologetically 3 and 
Messrs, Raphael Tuck 
and Sons were only 
too ready to enlist her 
exclusive services for a 
term of years in draw- 
ing the pictures for 
Alice in Wonderland," 
11 Grimm's Fairy Tales/* 
and many lesser-known 
publications for the 
nursery. Thus by the 
time she had reached 

nties the ar 
had definitely entered 
upon the career she 
had chosen for herself. 
{ I enjoyed this kind 
of work very mtH 
9 he sa y s, At I was 
alwt edingly fond 

■ 1 ever 

Hqi*. nnd 

since I can remember I have d 
in drawing fairies, goblins, and other 
fantastic creatures of their imagination. 
1 was particularly glad when com- 
missioned to illustrate that 
charming of children's books, * Alice 
in Wonderland.* The people of the 
last generation, I believe, resent the 
fact of so many artists undertaking 
the illustration of Alice^ and their 
resentment is perhaps natural. j 
grew up with this ' Alice in Wonder- 
land 3 of Sir John Termul, and they 
cannot accept any other pictorial 


ijy wrmiuwn of «* j, V- 


version of Lewis Carroll's fantasy. T5ut the 
characters and incidents in the -lory are 

able of more than one rendering — do 
not think so? — and it is always interesting 
to me to see them depicted from the stand- 
point of different artists/' 

From illustrations to children's hooks 
Miss Attwc!! pfs'xc tc drawings for produc- 
tion fcn rotantr prints. On? of the first of these 




— " Everybody's Doing It " 

has also been one of the most 

successful. In "Everybody's Doing It" — 

two little mites emulating the lulling and 

cooing o4 grown-up lovers — the artist presents 

the humour of childhood, not as it is visible 

to children themselves, but as seen by adults. 

This is true of 1 

practically all her 

work apart from 

the illustrations 

for j ;i v en i ! e 


With the d e* 
velopment uf 
enterprise it was 
inevitable that 
Hiss A tt welt's 
talent should be 
enlisted in the 
service of com- 
mercial publicity. 
Some of the most 
popular posters 
advertisements — in recent 
been from her brush. Eve 
remember the poster she did for the 
London Tube Railways — " Hullo, did 
you come by the Underground ? " — 
to draw public attention to the 
delightful country which might be 1 \'\t] 



reached by means of 

them. The inquiry 

is add essed by two 

startled bi kiddies v 

to a rabbit whirl] has 

suddenly erne rg v H 

from a hole in their 



were so 


with this 


that thousands 

of them wrote 

to the railway 

company for a 

copy, until a 

charge was 

obliged to he 

made, and even 

then the supply 

was eventually 

ex hu listed. 
Miss At t well 

does not use 

models — ai 

least not in the 


way. But as 

I approached 

Fairdene, her 

dainty little home at Coulsdon, Surrey, I 

caught sight through the front window of a 

huge rocking-horse 
— ; and this told 
its own talc- The 
artist is the wife 
of Mr. Harold 
Eamshaw, a mem- 
ber of the same 
profession and has 
three children, two 
boys and a girl, 
aged seven , five, 
and three respeo 
lively* They give 
all the help she 
needs in drawing 
her figures,, and 
whilst joining with 
them in their play 
she evolves most 
of the ideas which 
are embodied in 
print, poster } ot 
" My children;' 
r xftWlA* 1 "the 'remarks, 






n often amuse me by the interest 
they take in my work. The other 
day I was in one of the Tube lifts 
with my little girl, and suddenly 
she cried out in the midst of the 
crowd of people, ' Oh, mamma, 
there's one of your pictures/ and 
pointed with great glee to a small 
poster, £ Doctors' Orders/ You 
can imagine how amused the other 

engers were. Some time 
several of my children's school friends 
came running up to them to show 

l such 'a pretty picture' at 
one of the street corners. When 

"i'ke qood now/' 

" ISF. AT RAID ! ' 

rny children got there they found they w 
in the poster, and they were as pleased as 
Punch to tell their friends that it was one 
of ' Mummy's pictures.' " 

Miss Attwell has frankly admitted her 
of academic training, ard to critics of the 
technical accuracy of her drawings she would, 
I fancy, plead guilty with equal read in* 
When she puts animals or other ries 

into her pictures she says that they are i 
impressions of things as she sees % them. 
lt Look at the rabbit in the Underground 
poster, for example. If my husband \\ 
to draw that poster it really would 
anatomically correct. All I tried to put 
down was an impression as I saw it in my 
mind's eye— in give it a human expression, 
in fact*" 

Speaking of her husband, 
showed me a number of " two hour ?I 
sketches by Mr. Earnshaw 
and full in every detail — made 
at the London Sketch Club, and 
hung around the studio with others 
executed by distinguished friends 
and fellow-students. It rs evident 
that she greatly admires them T but 
says that such technical excellence 
is not for her. 

It is perhaps because of their 
freedom from studious effort thai 
M iss At t well's v i v i d 1 y - d r a w n 
i in. hen, with their (hubby I 



wide -open eyes } and pouting fips ? have 
made such a strong appeal to the 
uncritical — in the academic sense— hut 
warmly appreciative — in the human 
sense — general public. They may not 
satisfy all the canons of the art school, 
but they touch the hearts <>f uthiT.-, 
and mothers with children 
of their own all the world 
over, " Why, they are 
just like our Frank y and 
Katie," is the remark 
often made to the artist 
by friends when shown 
one of her pictures. 

The appeal thus made 
to the feelings of child- 
lovers has extended to the farther 
corners of the world. One of 
Miss Attwell ? s brothers is in the 
Navy, and he told her that when 
calling at Hong* Kong some time 
ago^thefir^t tiling which attracted 



C JO: I 


an unbounded love 
for and interest in 
children. As a 
mother constantly 
in the company of 
her little ones, ob- 
serving almost 

unconsciously their 
ways and idiosyn- 
crasies, she enjoys 
an advantage which 
no man, or even a 
w o m a n less for- 
tunate in her 
circumstances, can 
hope to share. It 
was for the sake of 
her children, their 
health and enjoy- 
ment, that she and 



his attention on going ashore wiis one of his 
sister's pictures in a shop window. 

The basis of Miss A tt well's success is doubt- 
less a natural talent in the use of her pent il 
and brush — she-combines strength of drawing 
with daintiness in colouring— together with 

years ago in a north-wes- 
tern suburb of London 
and settled themselves 
amidst the country-like 
environments of Couls- 
don. The artist misse 
him h that she enjoyed 
n her London life, its 
artistic and literary 
interests and i ongenial 
friends] lips. B u t with . 
her. unlike many other 
modern mothers, the 
children come first, and 
until they have left their 
rliildhood behind them 
she is likely (SfigtMlfton 

hcr Sm Pmi ,l BWTY OF MICHKHW 1 *°- s,,Y - 

n ( 



RIY EX by a fan-shaped propelkr at great speed, 
a monorail car of unusual design is in operation 
on the raliiorrua estate of Mr. J. \\\ Eawkes. The car 
is fifty feet Jong, and is composed of aluminium and 
Meet, having the general appearance of a dirigible 
balloon or torpedo. It can carrv hftv-si* passengers 

with ease, and the inventor claims that it wil] be able 
10 attain a speed of two hundred miles an hour on an 
overhead track of proper length. 

The power for this car is a sixty -horse- power 
engine taken from a touring car, and it sends the 
six-foot blades of the propeller at the rate of one 
^ousand revolutions per minute. The fan -hke shape 
rtf the blades gives extreme driving force, and sends 
the car whirling over the experimental track at a 
Jively pace. The profiler is composed of steel ribs 
that carry sheets of aluminium, and has a diameter 
of six feet. 

The car will have a similar propeller and engine at 
the other end eventually, so that it will be possible to 
double the driving power, hut for the present length 
W track the single engine is more than sufficient. 

As a protection for the passengers, a complete sheath 
of aluminium has been placed over the frame, giving 
the car the appearance of a huge silver bullet/but the 
accompanying photograph was taken to show the 
construction of the ribs before this covering was placed 
in position. * * 

The single rail which carries the car is a steel T 
beam, trussed with rods to give rigKljtv, and carried 
upon wooden posts. In the experimental road the 
car is suspended only a few feet from the ground, 
e^rept where it crosses, a wash, but the plnn of the 
designer calls for steel and concrete supports that will 
carry the car at an elevation of about twelve feet or 

Ky setting poles of varying heights to allow for the 
uneven surface of the ground, a level wav could be 
secured without grading, and tir, Fawkes estimates 
the cost per mile of track as low as £400 for average 
rolling country. Hie cars can be built at about 

£3*0 each, ud Eth*re * no power plant needed, as 

each car * uAp^fauh- operate/ TTius a great 

b^Z m T1 ^ ,w > T fKtxuction is clamted hv the 

Tu^lL - 11 * ° WTICr ^ S* * fort, »* fron* other 
t^T,! ^venriom. and believes that this one »,U 

39** Central Park West, New York City, L\S.A. 


A animal 


i not usuaJly regarded as a musical 
speaaliy m the watches of the night- 

bm this cat. as will be seen, is reallv made of musk*- 
Wis* Ethel Evans. Llangemvech Park, Carmarthen^. 

V \ HEN water is being heated there is a constant 
\ V interchange taking place between the warm an^ 
the n>d currents. These convection currents, as'thev 
are called, foNow curiously regular courses, and a »„-■ 
fascinating hule experiment is possible to deinonstr,i«e 
the phenomenon. Any kind of glass vessel mav be 
used for the purpose. This is filled with cold watef 
and into it is thrown a small quantitv of anv *,]ui 
colouring .matter such as cochineal, iniline $vt. m 
litmus. This matter sinks ro the bottom. NWpbnr 
the glass vessel over a sp,_-it flame arid watch the 
results. The 
water nearest f 
to the flame 

gets heated, 

expands, and 


lighter. It 

then ascends 

in currents 

which are 


coloured bv 

the dye at the 

h o t t o 111. 

These stream 

u p w a rds ; 

m e a n w hile 

the colder 

water gTavi- 

tates down to 

take the place 

of that which 

has risen, — 

Mr, S. Leo- 
nard Bast in, 
B o u r n e- 


<J)0 not forget that The Stranb Magazine may now be sent post free to British 
soldiers and satlors at home or abroad. All you need do is to hand your copies, 
without wrapper or address, over the counter at any post-office in the United Kingdom, 
and they mil be sent by the au thorities wherever they tfffgtaaWW) »*«»«. 

'- >0 S'' uWbfellY Oh MICHIGAN' 

i Splendid Number to send to the Soldier: 


■wjfci' aiiFi^' 


Published monthly by GLORCiE NHWNLS, I (d. f 8 to n, Southampton Street, Strand, London. England. 





Vf. Miliar, 


Our picture shows the little son 1 1 a Scots reader ready to 
start for the village post - office with a bundle of STRANDS, 
The recent appeal of Sir Douglas Haig call* attention to 
the fact that we are not doing all we might to provide our brave 
soldiers in field and hospital with books and magazines- The 
winter evenings give more leisure to the men in khaki, and the 
demand for reading -mutter is greater. The Camps Library can 
use thousands of these weekly, and each of us should help to 
provide this number. Look over your shelves, and make up a 
parcel of those you Have finished with, leave them at the nearest 
post-office, unwrapped and unaddreased, and the Camps Library 
will do the rest 


( nnof Original From 

J JS' {See m * Diversity of Michigan 


Vol. 53- 

MARCH, 1917. 

Nch 315. 





Illustrated by Alfred Leete. 

i % X 

'M not absolutely certain of 
my facts, but. I rather fancy 
it's Shakespeare — or, if not, 
it's some equally brainy lad — 
who says that it's always 
just when a chappie is feeling 
~ particularly top-hole and more 

thdn : usualjy bracgd with things in general 
!that Fate sneaks up behind him with the bit 
of lead piping. There's no doubt the man's 
right. , It's absolutely that way with me. 
1 ake, for instance^ the fairly rummy matter 
of Lady Malvern and her son Wilmot. A 
moment before they turned up I was just 
thinking how thoroughly all right everything 

It was one of those topping mornings, and 
I had just climbed out from under the cold 
shower, feeling like a two-year-old. As a 
matter of fact, I was ^especially bucked just 
then because the day before I had asserted 
myself with Jeeves — absolutely asserted my- 
self, don't you know. You see, the way 
things had been going on I was rapidly 
becoming a dashed serf. The man had jolly 
well oppressed me. I didn't so much mind 
when he made me give up one of my new 
suits, because Jeeves's judgment about suits 
is sound. But I as near as a toucher rebelled 
when he wouldn't let me wear a pair of cloth- 
topped boots which I loved like a couple of 
brothers. And when he tried to tread on me 
like a worm in the matter of a hat, I jolly 

Vol. Kii.— 15. 

well put my foot down and showed him who 
was who. It's a long story, and I haven't 
time to tell you now, but the point is that he 
wanted me to wear the Longacre — as worn 
by John Drew — when I had set my heart on 
the Country Gentleman — as worn by another 
famous actor chappie — and the end of the 
matter was that, after a rather painful scene, 
I bought the Country Gentleman. So that's 
how things stood on this particular morn- 
ing, and I was feeling kind of manly and 

Well, I was in the bathroom, wondering 
what there was going to be for breakfast 
while I massaged the good old spine with a 
rough towel and sang slightly, when there 
was a tap at the door. I stopped singing and 
opened the door' ah inch. 

" What ho without there ! " 

"Lady Malvern wishes to see you/ sir," 
said Jeeves, 

" Eh ? [' 

" Lady Malvern, sir. She is waiting in the 

" Pull yourself together, Jeeves, my man," 
I said, rather severely, for I bar practical 
jokes before breakfast. " You know per- 
fectly well there's no one waiting for me in 
the sitting-room. How could there be when 
it's barely ten o'clock yet ? " 

" I gathered from her ladyship, sir, that 
she had landed from at?, ocean liner at an 
early Ippippr/^jLis j norn ing ^ f^ H IG A N 



This made the thing a bit more plausible. 
I remembered that when I had arrived in 
America about a year before, the proceedings 
had begun at some ghastly hour like six, and 
that I had been shot out on to a foreign shore 
considerably before eight. 

" Who the deuce is Lady Malvern, Jeeves ? " 

" Her ladyship did not confide in me, sir." 
. " Is she alone ? " 

" Her ladyship is accompanied by a Lord 
Pershore, sir. I fancy that his lordship would 
be her ladyship's son." 

" Oh, well, put out rich raiment of sorts, 
and I'll be dressing." 

44 Our heather-mixture lounge is in readi- 
ness, sir." 

" Then lead me to it." 

While I was dressing I kept trying to 
think who on earth Lady Malvern could be. 
It wasn't till I had climbed through the top 
of my shirt and was reaching out for the 
studs that I remembered. 

44 I've placed her, Jeeves. She's a pal of 
my Aunt Agatha." 

" Indeed, sir ? " 

" Yes. I met her at lunch one Sunday 
before I left London. A very vicious speci- 
men. Writes books. She wrote a book on 
social conditions in India when she came back 
from the Durbar." 

44 Yes, sir ? Pardon me, sir, but not that 

44 Eh ? " 

44 Not that tie with the heather-mixture 
lounge, sir ! " 

It was a shock to me. I thought I had 
quelled the fellow. It was rather a solemn 
moment. What I mean is, if I weakened 
now, all my good work the night before would 
be thrown away. I braced myself. 

44 What's wrong with this tie ? I've seen 
you give it a nasty look before. Speak out 
like a man ! What's the matter with it ? " 

44 Too ornate, sir." 

44 Nonsense ! A cheerful pink. Nothing 

44 Unsuitable, sir." 

44 Jeeves, this is the tie I wear ! " 

44 Very good, sir." 

Dashed unpleasant. I could see that the 
man was wounded. But I was firm. I tied 
the tie, got into the coat and waistcoat, and 
went into the sitting-room. 

44 Halloa! Halloa! Halloa!" I said. 
44 What ? " 

44 Ah ! How do you do, Mr. Wooster ? 
You have never met my son Wilmot, I think ? 
Motty, darling, this is Mr. Wooster." 

Lady Malvern was a hearty, happy, healthy, 

overpowering sort of dashed female, not so 
very tall but making up for it by measuring 
about six feet from the O. P. to the Prompt 
Side. She fitted into my biggest arm-chair 
as if it had been built round her by someone 
who knew they were wearing arm-chairs tight 
about the hips that season. She had bright, 
bulging eyes and a lot of yellow hair, and when 
she spoke she showed about fifty-seven front 
teeth. She was one of those women who kind 
of numb a fellow's faculties. She made me 
feel as if I were ten years old and had been 
brought into the drawing-room in my Sunday 
clothes to say how-d'you-do. Altogether by no 
means the sort of thing a chappie would wish 
to find in his sitting-room before breakfast. 

Motty, the son, was about twenty-three, 
tall and thin and meek-looking. He had the 
same yellow hair as his mother, but he wore 
it plastered down and parted in the middle. 
His eyes bulged, too, but they weren't bright. 
They were a dull grey with pink rims. His 
chin gave up the struggle about half-way 
down, and he didn't appear to have any eye- 
lashes. A mild, furtive, sheepish sort of 
blighter, in short. 

44 Awfully glad to see you," I said. " So 
you've popped over, eh? Making a long 
stay in America ? " 

44 About a month. Your aunt gave me 
your address and told me to be sure and call 
on you." 

I was glad to hear this, as it showed that 
Aunt Agatha was beginning to come round 
a bit. There had been some unpleasant- 
ness a year before, when she had sent me 
over to New York to disentangle my 
Cousin Gussie from the clutches of a girl on 
the music-hall stage. When I tell you that 
by the time I had finished my operations 
Gussie had not only married the girl but had 
gone on the stage himself and was doing well, 
you'll understand that Aunt Agatha was 
upset to no small extent. I simply hadn't 
dared go back and face her, and it was a 
relief to find that time* had healed the wound 
and all that sort of thing enough to make 
her tell her pals to look me up. What I mean 
is, much as I liked America, I didn't 
want to have England barred to me for the 
rest of my natural ; and, believe me, England 
is a jolly sight too small for anyone to live 
in with Aunt Agatha, if she's really on the 
warpath. So I was braced on hearing these 
kind words and smiled genially on the 

44 Your aunt said that you would do any- 
thing that was m your power to be of assis- 


2t 3 

M Rather ! Oh, rather ! Absolutely ! " 

"Thank you so much. I want you to put 
dear Motty up for a little while/' 

I didn't get this for a moment, 

" Put him up ? For my clubs ? " 

" No, no ! Darling Motty is essentially a 
home bird. Aren't you, Motty, darling ? w 

Motty j who was sucking the knob of his 
stick, uncorked himself, 

" Yes, mother/' he said, and corked himself 
up again, 

u I should not like him to belong to clubs. 
I mean put him up here. Have him to live 
with you while I am away." 

These frightful words trickled out of her 
like honey. The woman simply didn't seem 
to understand the ghastly nature of her pro- 
posal, 1 gave Motty the swift east-to-west. 
He was sitting with his mouth nuzzling the 
stick, blinking at the wall. The thought of 
having this planted on me for an indefinite 
period appalled me. 
Absolutely appalled 
me, don't you know. 
I was just starting 
to say that the shot 
wasn't on the board 
at any price, and 
that the first sign 
Motty gave of try- 
ing to nestle into my 
little home I would 
yell for the police, 
when she went on, 
rolling placidly over 
me, as it were. 

There was some- 
thing about this 
woman that sapped 
a chappie's w i 1 1- 

" I am leaving 
New York by the 
midday train, as I 
have to pay a visit 
to Sing-Sing prison, 
I am extremely 
interested in prison 
conditions in 
America. After that 
I work my way 
gradually across to 
the coast,, visiting 
the points of interest on the journey. You 
see, Mr. Wooster, I am in America principally 
on business, No doubt you read my book, 
1 India and the Indians J ? My publishers are 
anxious for me to write a companion volume 
on the United States, I shall not be able to 


spend more than a month in the country, as 
I have to get back for the season, but a month 
should, be ample* I was less than a month 
in India, and my dear friend Sir Roger 
Cremome wrote his E America from Within ' 
after a stay of only two weeks, I should love 
to take dear Motty with me, but the poor 
boy gets so sick when he travels by train. 
I shall have to pick him up on my return/' 

From where I sat I could see Jeeves in the 
dining-room, laying the break fast -table, I 
wished I could have had a minute with him 
alone. I felt certain that he would have 
been able to think of some way of putting a 
stop to this woman. 

"It will be such a relief to know that Motty 
is safe with you, Mr, Wooster. I know what 
the temptations of a great city are. Hitherto 
dear Motty has been sheltered from them. 
He has lived quietly with me in the country. 
I know that you will look after him carefully, 

Mr. Wooster, He 
will give very little 
trouble." She - talked 
about the poor 
blighter as if he 
wasn't there. Not 
that Motty seemed 
to mind, He had 
stopped chewing his 
walking - stick and 
was sitting there 
with his mouth open. 
M He is a vegetarian 
and a teetotaller, 
and is devoted to 
reading. Give him 
a nice book and hfa 
will be quite con- 
tented," She got 
up* " Thank you so 
much, Mr. Wooster ! 
I don't know what 
I should have done 
without your help. 
Come, Motty ! We 
have just time to see 
a few of the sights 
before my train 
goes. But I shall 
have to rely on you 
for most of my infor- 
mation about New 
York, darling. Be sure to keep your eyes open 
and take notes of your impressions 1 It will 
be such a help. Good- bye, Mr. Wooster. I 
will send Motty back early in the afternoon, 1 ' 
Thev went out t and 1 howled for Jeeves. 



11 Sir ? " 

" What's to be done ? You heard it all, 
didn't you ? You were in the dining-room 
most of the time. That pill is coming to stay 

" Pill, sir ? " 

" The excrescence." 

" I beg your pardon, sir ? " 

I looked at Jeeves sharply. This sort of 
thing wasn't like him. It was as if he were 
deliberately trying to give me the pip. Then 
I understood. The man was really upset 
about that tie. He was trying to get his own 

" Lord Pershore will be staying here from 
to-night, Jeeves," I said, coldly. 

" Very good, sir. Breakfast is ready, sir." 

I could have sobbed into the bacon and 
eggs. That there wasn't any sympathy to 
be got out of Jeeves was what put the lid 
on it. For a moment I almost weakened 
and told him to destroy the hat and tie if he 
didn't like them, but I pulled myself together 
again. I was dashed if I was going to let 
Jeeves treat me like a bally one-man chain- 
gang ! 

But, what with brooding on Jeeves and 
brooding on Motty, I was in a pretty reduced 
sort of state. The more I examined the 
situation, the more blighted it became. There 
was nothing I could do. If I slung Motty 
out, he would report to his mother, and she 
would pass it on to Aunt Agatha, and I didn't 
like to think what would happen then. 
Sooner or later, I should be wanting to go 
back to England, and I didn't want to get 
there and find Aunt Agatha waiting on the 
quay for me with a stuffed eelskin. There 
was absolutely nothing for it but to put the 
fellow up and make the best of it. 

About midday Motty's luggage arrived, and 
soon afterward a large parcel of what I took 
to be nice books. I brightened up a little 
when I saw it. It was one of those massive 
parcels, and looked as if it had enough in it 
to keep the chappie busy for a year. I felt 
a trifle more cheerful, and I got my Country 
Gentleman hat and stuck it on my head, and 
gave the pink tie a twist, and reeled out to 
take a bite of lunch with one or two of the 
lads at a neighbouring hostelry ; and what 
with excellent browsing and sluicing and 
cheery conversation and what-not, the after- 
noon passed quite happily. By dinner-time 
I had almost forgotten blighted Motty's 

I dined at the club and looked in at a show 
afterward, and it wasn't till fairly late that 
I got back to the flat. There were no signs 

of Motty, and I took it that he had gone to 

It seemed rummy to me, though, that the 
parcel of nice books was still there with the 
string and paper on it. It looked as if Motty, 
after seeing mother off at the station, had 
decided to call it a day. 

Jeeves came in with the nightly whisky- 
and-soda. I could tell by the chappie's 
manner that he was still upset. 

" Lord Pershore gone to bed, Jeeves ? " 
I asked, with reserved hauteur and what-not. 

" No, sir. His lordship has not yet 

" Not returned ? What do you mean ? " 

" His lordship came in shortly after six- 
thirty, and, having dressed, went out again." 

At this moment there was a noise outside 
the front door, a sort of scrabbling noise, as 
if somebody were trying to paw his way 
through the woodwork. Then a sort of thud. 

" Better go and see what that is, Jeeves." 

" Very good, sir." 

He went out and came back again. 

" If you would not mind stepping this way, 
sir, I think we might be able to carry him 

" Carry him in ? " 

" His lordship is lying on the mat, sir." 

I went to the front door. The man was 
right. There was Motty huddled up outside 
on the floor. He was moaning a bit. 

II He's had some sort of dashed fit," I said. 
I took another look. " Jeeves ! Someone's 
been feeding him meat ! " 

. " Sir ? " 

" He's a vegetarian, you know. He must 
have been digging into a steak or something. 
Call up a doctor ! " 

" I hardly think it will be necessary, sir* 
If you would take his lordship's legs, while 
I " 

" Great Scot, Jeeves ! You don't think — 
he can't be " 

II I am inclined to think so, sir." 

And, by Jove, he was right ! Once on the 
right track, you couldn't mistake it. Motty 
was under the surface. 

It was the deuce of a shock. 

" You never can tell, Jeeves ! " 

" Very seldom, sir." 

" Remove the eye of authority and where 
are you ? " 

" Precisely, sir." 

11 Where is my wandering boy to-night and 
all that sort of thing, what ? " 

u It would seem so, sir." 

" Well, wi k hiid better bring him in, eh ? " 





So we lugged him in, and Jeeves put him 
to bed, and I lit a cigarette and s.U down to 
think the thing over. I had a kind of fore- 
boding. It seemed to me that I had let 
myself in for something pretty rocky; 

Next morning after I had sucked down a 
thoughtful cup of tea, I went into Motty's 
room to investigate. I expected to find the 
fellow a wreck, but there he was, sitting up 
in bed, quite chirpy, reading Gingery Stories. 

" What ho ! " I said 

u What ho ! PJ said Matty. 

"What ho! What ho!'" 

M What ho ! What ho ! What ho ! " 

After that it seemed rather difficult to go 
on with the conversation, 

*' How are you feeling this morning?" I 

** Topping ! ,J replied Motty, blithely and 
with abandon. 1( I say, you know, that fellow 
of yours — Jeeves, you know — is a corker. I 
had a most frightful headache when I woke 
up, and he brought me a sort of rummy dark 
drink, and it put me right again at once- 
Said it was his own invention. I must see 
more of that lad. He seems to me distinctly 
one of the ones ! " 

I couldn't be|ie v e that this was the same 

blighter who had sat and sucked his stick 
the day before, 

" You ate something that disagreed with 
you last night, didn't you ? " I said, by way 
of giving him a chance to slide out of it if he 
wanted to. But he wouldn't have it at any 

" No ! " he replied, firmly. " I didn't do 
anything of the kind, I drank too much ! 
Much too much ! Lots and lots too much ! 
And, what's more, I'm going to do it again ! 
I'm going to do it every night If ever you 
see me sober, old top/' he said, with a kind 
of holy exaltation, <f tap me on the shoulder 
and say, * Tut ! Tut ! ' and I'll apologize 
and remedy the defect*" 

il But I say, you know, what about me ? " 

u What about you ? M 

" Well, I'm, so to speak, as it were, kind of 
responsible for you. What I mean to say is, 
if you go doing this sort of thing Pm apt to 
get in the soup somewhat." 

" I can't help your troubles/' said Motty, 
firmly, " Listen to me, old thing: this is 
the first time in my life that I've had a real 
chance to yield to the temptations of a great 
citw What's the uw of a great city having 
tempt4>f W ^fi£^|lq>ps^ e ^ K -_ 5: ^Ld to them > 



Makes it so bally discouraging for a great 
city. Besides, mother told me to keep my 
eyes open and collect impressions." 

I sat on the edge of the bed. I felt dizzy. 

" I know just how you feel, old dear," said 
Motty, consolingly. " And, if my principles 
would permit it, I would simmer down for 
your sake. But duty first ! This is the first 
time I've been let out alone, and I mean to 
make the most of it. We're only young once. 
Why interfere with life's morning ? Young 
man, rejoice in thy youth ! Tra-la ! What 

Put like that, it did seem reasonable. 

" All my bally life, dear boy," Motty went 
on, " I've been cooped up in the ancestral 
home at Much Middlefold, in Shropshire, and 
till you've been cooped up in Much Middle- 
fold you don't know what cooping is ! The 
only time we get any excitement is when one 
of the choir-boys is caught sucking chocolate 
during the sermon. When that happens, we 
talk about it for days. I've got about a 
month of New York, and I mean to store 
up a few happy memories for the long winter 
evenings. This is my only chance to collect 
a past, and I'm going to do it. Now tell me, 
old sport, as man to man, how does one get 
in touch with that very decent chappie 
Jeeves ? Does one ring a bell or shout a bit ? 
I should like to discuss the subject of a good 
stiff b.-and-s. with him ! " 

I had had a sort of vague idea, don't you 
know, that if I stuck close to Motty and went 
about the place with him, I might act as a 
bit of a damper on the gaiety. What I mean 
is, I thought that if, when he was being the 
life and soul of the party, he were to catch 
my reproving eye he might ease up a trifle 
on the revelry. So the next night I took 
him along to supper with me. It was the 
last time. I'm a quiet, peaceful sort of 
chappie who has lived all his life in London, 
and I can't stand the pace these swift sports- 
men from the rural districts set. What I 
mean to say is, I'm all for rational enjoyment 
and so forth, but I think a chappie makes 
himself conspicuous when he throws soft- 
boiled eggs at the electric fan. And decent 
mirth and all that sort of thing are all right, 
but I do bar dancing on tables and having to 
dash all over the place dodging waiters, 
managers, and chuckers-out, just when you 
want to sit still and digest. 

Directly I managed to tear myself away 
that night and get home, I made up my mind 
that this was jolly well the last time that 
I went abput with Motty. The only time I 

met him late at night after that was once 
when I passed the door of a fairly low-down 
sort of restaurant and had to step aside to 
dodge him as he sailed through the air en 
route for the opposite pavement, with a 
muscular sort of looking chappie peering out 
after him with a kind of gloomy satisfaction. 

In a way, I couldn't help sympathizing 
with the fellow. He had about four weeks 
to have the good time that ought to have 
been spread over about ten years, and I 
didn't wonder at his wanting to be pretty 
busy. I should have been just the same in 
his place. Still, there was no denying that 
it was a bit thick. If it hadn't been for the 
thought of Lady Malvern and Aunt Agatha 
in the background, I should have regarded 
Motty's rapid work with an indulgent smile. 
But I couldn't get rid of the feeling that, 
sooner or later, I was the lad who was 
scheduled to get it behind the ear. And 
what with brooding on this prospect, and 
sitting up in the old flat waiting for the 
familiar footstep, and putting it to bed when 
it got there, and stealing into the sick- 
chamber next morning to contemplate the 
wreckage, I was beginning to lose weight. 
Absolutely becojning the good old shadow, 
I give you my honest word. Starting at 
sudden noises and what-not. 

And no sympathy from Jeeves. That was 
what cut me to the quick. The man was 
still thoroughly pipped about the hat and tie, 
ancl simply wouldn't rally round. One morn- 
ing I wanted comforting so much that I sank 
the pride of the Woosters and appealed to 
the fellow direct. 

' " Jeeves," I said, " this is getting a bit 

" Sir ? " Business and cold respectfulness. 

" You know what I mean. This lad seems 
to have chucked all the principles of a well- 
spent boyhood. He has got it up his nose ! " 

" Yes, sir." 

" Well, I shall get blamed, don't you know. 
You know what my Aunt Agatha is ! " 

" Yes, sir." 

" Very well, then." 

I waited a moment, but he wouldn't unbend. 

II Jeeves," I said, " haven't you any scheme 
up your sleeve for coping with this blighter ? " 

" No, sir." 

And he shimmered off to his lair. Obstinate 
devil ! So dashed absurd, don't you know. 
It wasn't as if there was anything wrong with 
that Country Gentleman hat. It was a 
remarkably priceless effort, and much admired 
by the lads. But., just because he preferred 
the Longacre. he left me flat, 



It was shortly after this that young Motty 
got the idea of bringing pals back in the small 
hours to continue the gay revels in the home. 
This was where I began to crack under the 
strain, You see, the part of town where I 
was living wasn't the right place for that sort 
of thing. I knew lots of chappies down 
Washington Square way who started the 
-evening at about two a,m. — artists and 
writers and what-not, who frolicked consider- 
ably till checked by the arrival of the morning 

peevishness among the old settlers in the 
flats. The management was extremely terse 
over the telephone at breakfast-time, and took 
a lot of soothing* 

The next night I came home early, after a 
lonely dinner at a place which I'd chosen 
because there didn't seem any chance 01 
meeting Motty there. The sitting-room was 
quite dark., and I was just moving to switch 
on the light j when there was a sort of explosion 
and something collared hold of my trouser- 



milk. That was all right. They like that 
sort of thing down there. The neighbours 
can't get to sleep unless there's someone 
dancing Hawaiian dances over their heads. 
But on Fifty -seventh Street the atmosphere 
wasn't right, and when Motty turned up at 
three in the morning with a collection of 
hearty lads, who only stopped singing their 
college song when they started singing M The 
Old Oaken Bucket/' there was a marked 

kg. Living with Motty had reduced me to 
such an extent that I was simply unable to 
cope with this thing- I jumped backward 
with a loud yell of anguish , and tumbled out 
into the hall just as Jeeves came out of his 
den to see what the matter was, 

11 Did you call, sir? M 

" Jeeves ! There's something in there that 




" I would have warned you of his presence, 
but I did not hear you come in. His temper 
is a little uncertain at present, as he has not 
yet settled down." 

" Who the deuce is Rollo ? " 

" His lordship's bull-terrier, sir. His lord- 
ship won him in a raffle, and tied him to the 
leg of the table. If you will allow me, sir, I 
will go in and switch on the light." 

There really is nobody like Jeeves. He 
walked straight into the sitting-room, the 
biggest feat since Daniel and the lions' den, 
without a quiver. What's more, his magnetism 
or whatever they call it was such that the 
dashed animal, instead of pinning him by the 
leg, calmed down as if he had had a bromide, 
and rolled over on his back with all his paws 
in the air. If Jeeves had been his rich uncle 
he couldn't have been more chummy. Yet 
directly he caught sight of me again, he got 
all worked up and seemed to have only one 
idea in life — to start chewing me where he had 
left off. 

" Rollo is not used to you yet, sir," said 
Jeeves, regarding the bally quadruped in an 
admiring sort of way. " He is an excellent 

" I don't want a watchdog to keep me out 
of my rooms." 

" No, sir." 

" Well, what am I to do ? " 

" No doubt in time the animal will learn 
to discriminate, sir. He will learn to dis- 
tinguish your peculiar scent." 

11 What do you mean — my peculiar scent ? 
Correct the impression that I intend to hang 
about in the hall while life slips by, in the 
hope that one of these days that dashed 
animal will decide that I smell all right." 
I thought for a bit. " Jeeves ! " 

" Sir ? " 

"I'm going away — to-morrow morning by 
the first train. I shall go and stop with Mr, 
Todd in the country." 

" Do you wish me to accompany you, 
sir ? " 

" No." 

" Very good, sir." 

" I don't know when I 
Forward my letters." 

" Yes, sir." 

shall be back* 

As a matter of fact, I was back within the 
week. Rocky Todd, the pal I went to stay 
with, is a rummy sort of a chap who lives 
all alone in the wilds of Long Island, and 
likes it ; but a little of that sort of thing goes 
a long way with me. Dear old Rocky is one 

of the best, but after a few days in his cottage 
in the woods, miles away from anywhere, 
New York, even with Motty on the premises, 
began to look pretty good to me. The days 
down on Long Island have forty-eight hours 
in them ; you can't get to sleep at night 
because of the bellowing of the crickets : and 
you have to walk two miles for a drink and 
six for an evening paper. I thanked Rocky 
for his kind hospitality, and caught the only 
train they have down in those parts. It 
landed me in New York about dinner-time. 
I went straight to the old flat. Jeeves came 
out of his lair. I looked round cautiously for 

" Where's that dog, Jeeves ? Have you 
got him tied up ? " 

" The animal is no longer here, sir. His 
lordship gave him to the porter, who sold 
him. His lordship took a prejudice against 
the animal on account of being bitten by him 
in the calf of the leg." 

I don't think I've ever been so bucked by 
a bit of news. I felt I had misjudged Rollo. 
Evidently, when you got to know him better, 
he had a lot of intelligence in him. 

" Ripping ! " I said. " Is Lord Pershore 
in, Jeeves ? " 

" No, sir." 

" Do you expect him back to dinner ? " 

" No, sir." 

"Where is he?" 

" In prison, sir." 

Have you ever trodden on a rake and had 
the handle jump up and hit you ? That's 
how I felt then. 

" In prison ! " 

" Yes, sir." 

" You don't mean — in prison ? " 

" Yes, sir." 

I lowered myself into a chair. 

" Why ? " I said. 

" He assaulted a constable, sir." 

" Lord Pershore assaulted a constable ! " 

" Yes, sir." 

I digested this. 

" But, Jeeves, I say ! This is frightful ! " 

" Sir ? " 

" What will Lady Malvern say when she 
finds out ? " . 

" I do not fancy that her ladyship will find 
out, sir." 

" But she'll come back and want to know 
where he is." 

" I rather fancy, sir, that his lordship's bit 
of time will have run out by then." 

" But supposing it hasn't ? " 

" In that event, sir, it may be judicious to 
prevaricate a littld/^CHIGAN 



" How? " 

" If I might make the suggestion, sir, I 
should inform her ladyship that his lordship 
has left for a short visit to Boston," 

11 Why Boston ? n 

" Very interesting and respectable centre, 

'* Jeeves j I believe youVe hit it*" 

bl I fancy so, sir/ J 

" Why ? this is really the best thing that 
could have happened. If this hadn't turned 
up to prevent him, young Alotty would have 

Vd almost forgotten such a person as Motty 
existed. The only flaw in the scheme of 
things was that Jeeves was still pained and 
distant- It wasn't anything he said or did 3 
mind you, but there was a rummy something 
about him all the time. Once when I was 
tying the pink tie I caught sight of him in 
the looking-glass. There was a kind of 
grieved look in his eye. 

And then Lady Malvern came back, a 
good bit ahead of schedule. 1 hadn't been 
expecting her for days. I'd forgotten how 


been in a sanatorium by the time Lady 
31 ahem got hack/' 

u Exactly, sir." 

The more 1 looked at it in that way, the 
sounder this prison w T heeze seemed to me, 
There was no doubt in the world that prison 
was just what the doctor ordered for Motty, 
It was the only thing that could have pulled 
him up. I was sorry for the poor blighter, 
but after all, I reflected, a chappie who bad 
lived all his life with Lady Malvern, in a 
small village in the interior of Shropshire, 
wouldn't have much to kick at in a prison. 
Altogether, I began to feel absolutely braced 
again. Life became like what the poet 
Johnnie says — one grand, sweet song. Things 
went on so comfortably and peacefully for a 
couple of weeks that I give you my word that 

time had been slipping along. She turned 
up one moming while I was still in bed sipping 
tea and thinking of this and that. Jeeves 
flowed in with the announcement that he had 
just loosed her into the sitting-room, I 
draped a few garments round me and went 

There she was, sitting in the same arm- 
chair, looking as massive as ever. The only 
difference was that she didn't uncover the 
teeth as she had done the first time. 

" Good morning/' 1 said. " So you've got 
back, what ? " 

11 I have got back." 

There was something sort of bleak about 
her tone, rather as if she had swallowed an 
east wind. TBacHnttidkoto be due to the 
fact ttuQif |K|B^bfr s^ ! C4l1?5AN reakfasted - 



It's only after a bit of breakfast that I'm 
able to regard the world with that sunny 
cheeriness which makes a fellow the universal 
favourite. I'm never much of a lad till I've 
engulfed an egg or two and a beaker of 

" I suppose you haven't breakfasted ? " 

" I have not yet breakfasted." 

" Won't you have an egg or something ? 
Or a sausage or something ? Or some- 
thing ? " 

" No, thank you." 

She spoke as if she belonged to an 
anti - sausage society or a league for the 
suppression of eggs. There was a bit of a 

" I called on you last night," she said, 
" but you were out." 

" Awfully sorry ! Had a pleasant trip ? " 

" Extremely, thank you." 

" See everything ? Niag'ra Falls, Yellow- 
stone Park, and the jolly old Grand Canyon, 
and what-not ? " 

" I saw a great deal." 

There was another slightly jrappS silence. 
Jeeves floated silently into the dining-room 
and began to lay the breakfast-table. 

" I hope Wilmot was not in your way, 
Mr. Wooster ? " 

I had been wondering when she was going 
to mention Motty. 

" Rather not ! Great pals ! Hit it off 

II You were his constant companion, then ? " 
" Absolutely ! We were always together. 

Saw all the sights, don't you know. We'd 
take in the Museum of Art in the morning, 
and have a bit of lunch at some good vege- 
tarian place, and then toddle along to a 
sacred concert in the afternoon, and home 
to an early dinner. We usually played 
dominoes after dinner. And then the early 
bed and the refreshing sleep. We had a 
great time. I was awfully sorry when he 
went away to Boston." 
4t Oh ! Wilmot is in Boston ? " 
" Yes. I ought to have let you know, but 
of course we didn't know where you were. 
You were dodging all over the place like a 
snipe — I mean, don't you know, dodging all 
over the place, and we couldn't get at you. 
Yes, Motty went off to Boston." 
44 You're sure he went to Boston ? " 
" Oh, absolutely." I called out to Jeeves, 
who was now messing about in the next 
room with forks and so forth : " Jeeves, 
Lord Pershore didn't change his mind about 
going to Boston, did he ? " 
" No, sir." 

" I thought I was right. Yes, Motty went 
to Boston." 

" Then how do you account, Mr. Wooster, 
for the fact that when I went yesterday 
afternoon to Blackwell's Island prison, to 
secure material for my book, I saw poor, 
dear Wilmot there, dressed in a striped suit, 
seated beside a pile of stones with a hammer 
in his hands ? " 

I tried to think of something to say, but 
nothing came. A chappie has to be a lot 
broader about the forehead than I am to 
handle a jolt like this. I strained the old 
bean till it creaked, but between the collar 
and the hair parting nothing stirred. I was 
dumb. Which was lucky, because I wouldn't 
have had a chance to get any persiflage out 
of my system. Lady Malvern collared the 
conversation. She had been bottling it up, 
and now it came out with a rush : — 

" So this is how you have looked after my 
poor, dear boy, Mr. Wooster ! So this is how 
you have abused my trust ! I left him in 
your charge, thinking that I could rely on 
you to shield him from evil. He came to 
you innocent, unversed in the ways of the 
world, confiding, unused to the temptations 
of a large city, and you led him astray ! " 

I hadn't any remarks to make. All I 
could think of was the picture of Aunt 
Agatha drinking all this in and reaching out 
to sharpen the hatchet against my return. 

" You deliberately " 

Far away in the misty distance a soft 
voice spoke : — 

" If I might explain, your ladyship." 

Jeeves had projected himself in from the 
dining-room and materialized on the rug. 
Lady Malvern tried to freeze him with a 
look, but you can't do that sort of thing to 
Jeeves. He is look-proof. 

" I fancy, your ladyship, that you may 
have misunderstood Mr. Wooster, and that 
he may have given you the impression that 
he was in New York when his lordship was — 
removed. When Mr. Wooster informed your 
ladyship that his lordship had gone to Boston, 
he was relying on the version I had given him 
of his lordship's movements. Mr. Wooster 
was away, visiting a friend in the country, 
at the time, and knew nothing of the matter 
till your ladyship informed him." 

Lady Malvern gave a kind of grunt. It 
didn't rattle Jeeves. 

" I feared Mr. Wooster might be disturbed 
if he knew the truth, as he is so attached to 
his lordship and has taken such pains to look 
after hum . so I took the liberty of telling him 

^■^fcW*^!^^ awa >' for a visit - 



It might have been hard for Mr. Wooster to 
believe that his lordship had gone to prison 
voluntarily and from the best motives, but 
your ladyship, knowing him better, will 
readily understand." 

" What ! " Lady Malvern goggled at him. 
" Did you say that Lord Pershore went to 
prison voluntarily ? " 

" If I might explain, your ladyship. I 
think that your ladyship's parting words 
made a deep impression on his lordship. I 
have frequently heard him speak to Mr. 
Wooster of his desire to do something to 
follow your ladyship's instructions and col- 
lect material for your ladyship's book on 
America. Mr. Wooster will bear me out 
when I say that his lordship was frequently 
extremely depressed at the thought that he 
was doing so little to help." 

" Absolutely, by Jove ! Quite pipped about 
it!" I said. 

" The idea of making a personal examina- 
tion into the prison system of the country — 
from within — occurred to his lordship very 
suddenly one night. He embraced it eagerly. 
There was no restraining him." 

Lady Malvern looked at Jeeves, then at 
me, then at Jeeves again. I could see her 
struggling with the thing. 

u Surely, your ladyship," said Jeeves, " it 
is more reasonable to suppose that a gentle- 
man of his lordship's character went to prison 
of his own volition than that he committed 
some breach of the law which necessitated 
his arrest ? " 

Lady Malvern blinked. Then she got up. 

" Mr. Wooster," .she said, " I apologize. 
I have done you an injustice. I should have 
known Wilmot better. I should have had 
more faith in his pure, fine spirit." 

" Absolutely ! " I said. 

" Your breakfast is ready, sir," said 

I sat down and dallied in a dazed sort of 
way with a poached egg. 

" Jeeves," I said, " you are certainly a 
life-saver ! " 

" Thank you, sir." 

41 Nothing would have convinced my Aunt 
Agatha that I hadn't lured that blighter into 
riotous living." 

" I fancy you are right, sir." 

I champed my egg for a bit. I was most 
awfully moved, don't you know, by the way 
Jeeves had rallied round. Something seemed 
to tell me that this was an occasion that 
called for rich rewards. For a moment I 
hesitated. Then I made up my mind. 

" Jeeves ! " 

" Sir ? " 

" That pink tie ! " 

" Yes, sir ? " 

" Burn it ! " 

" Thank you, sir." 

" And, Jeeves ! " 

" Yes, sir ? " 

" Take a taxi and get me that Longacre 
hat, as worn by John Drew ! " 

" Thank you very much, sir." 

I felt most awfully braced. I felt as if the 
clouds had rolled away and all was as it used 
to be. I felt like one of those chappies in 
the novels who calls off the fight with his 
wife in the last chapter and decides to forget 
and forgive. I felt I wanted to do all sorts 
of other things to show Jeeves that I appre- 
ciated him. 

" Jeeves," I said, " it isn't enough. Is 
there anything else you would like ? " 

" Yes, sir. If I may make the suggestion — 
fifty dollars." 

" Fifty dollars ? " ~~ 

" It will enable me to pay a debt of honour, 
sir. I owe it to his lordship." 

" You owe Lord Pershore fifty dollars ? " 

" Yes, sir. I happened to meet him in the 
street the night his lordship was arrested. I 
had been thinking a good deal about the most 
suitable method of inducing him to abandon 
his mode of living, sir. His lordship was a 
little over-excited at the time, and I fancy 
that he mistook me for a friend of his. At 
any rate, when I took the liberty of wagering 
him fifty dollars that he would not punch a 
passing policeman in the eye, he accepted the 
bet very cordially and won it." 

I produced my pocket-book and counted 
out a hundred. 

" Take this, Jeeves," I said ; " fifty isn't 
enough. Do you know, Jeeves, you're — 
well, you absolutely stand alone ! " 

44 I endeavour to give satisfaction, sir," 
said Jeeves. 

by Google 

Original from 








GOOD many 
p r e v i o u sly- 
estimates have 
been revised as a 
result of the war, 
and not least 
among these 
must be reckoned 
the views which 
the English 
and the French 
have tradi- 
tionally held 
of each other. 

Nothing has 
astonished our 
Allies more 
than the dis- 
covery in the 
British of 
good spirits 
and humor- 
ous pro- 
cli vities 
of a very 
and pro- 
nounced kind. At first the 
" incurable levity " of the British (as 
to unaccustomed eyes it appeared) 
caused misgiving : it seemed im- 
possible that a nation which made 
game of such a deadly serious thing 
as war could prosecute war seriously. 
It is symptomatic of the distance 
which has been travelled since the 
end of 1914 that the psychological 
value of humour on the battle-field 


(Smith African Scottish. J 

PkoUK by CA*ine* + 



soldiers' jests, necessarily somewhat grim 7 were at 
first deprecated, and only by degrees has it come to 
be realized that humour is a synonym for a sense 
of proportion^, and that the men who go farthest 
are those whose sense of irony carries them 
undismaved through the direst misadventure. 

now recognized to the 


L Optimism. 


Original from 






It has been said of us in past wars that 
we " muddled through. " The cheap sneer 
will doubtless be levelled again when in 
future the part of the British in the 
Great War comes under re%iew. But 
it would be a shrewder aphorism to 
say that the armies of Mons, of Ypres, 
of the Sornme, jested their way through 
every obstacle. If I were an artist 
desirous of painting an incident of 
the war which would be symbolic 
of the whole British effort^ I should 
depict the first of the * £ tanks " 
waddling up the street of Flers with 
the laughing British soldiers in its 

It is significant that the war- 
humorist crops up in every portion 
of the Imperial forces. No one of our 
many nationalities claims a monopoly. 
Recently, for instance, I was privileged 
to look through the sketch-book of 
Mr. Walter Kirby, lieutenant in the 
South African Scottish, which has 
accompanied its owner to German 
South-West Africa, to Egypt, and to 
France and Flanders. Some leaves 
from it are reproduced here, by 
permission j and our readers will 
appreciate for themselves the gay 
spirit and robust humour which have 
produced these amusing drawings. 

When I asked the artist how he - 
managed to maintain his cheerful 
outlook at concert-pitch amidst the 

discomforts (to rate 
them no worse) of 
trench life, his 
answer was an 
endorsement of the 
psychological vir- 
tue of humour, 

" The conditions 
at the Front/' he 
said, " are often so 
nearly intolerable 
that * if troubles 
were taken seri- 
ously, one would 
very quickly ' go 
under.' When 
things are beyond 
a joke, then is the 
time that one must 
make a joke of 
them. Perhaps 
the jest will be grim 
—it generally is — 
but the fact that it 
is a jest at all restores perspective and pre- 
serves one's sanity. Of course, one does not 
do it consciously. That would be impossible, 



ft* neb-, *>*«g 

tti f*«v ti.*H 

tm> hoi-*** * 
an fe*. #iw now). 

THE PRQF£yW&^JlT^ A jOB + 




14 Betn looking inund here for * Five Tall Willows ' all day, ave yer? 
Well, there they are right under yer bloomin* nose, 5j 

and anything more ghastly than laborious 

facetiousness/in such circumstances I cannot 

imagine. But I think it is the subconscious 

perception of the necessity, coupled with a 

nitive delight in raillery — in the ' guying ' of 

things— which keeps our men in that state of 

cheery goad humour which has so astonished 

the world. - • • -' i 
" For instance, the sketch which I 

called £ Optimism ' is not a flight of 

facetious fancy, but was literally 

drawn from life. The thing did 

actually happen —and on the Somme, 

too* I have endeavoured to show 

the miserable conditions which ol>- 

tained, but I freely confess that I 

have not succeeded in making them 

look half as bad as they were. Yet 

I came upon the man in question— 

an officer's servant — gleefully warbling 

* The Perfect Day ' while he tried to 

shield his frying-pan from the rain 

under the lee of the trench-wall. Yes, 

you do meet men like that, and they 
are worth their weight in gold. 

" Another fellow of the same type 
was the man I have labelled ' The 
Congenial Idiot,' The epithet is not 
a misprint for ' congenital/ as perhaps 
you might think in a hurry. This 
chap was a born comedian, and things 
were never dull in his vicinity. On 
the occasion when I sketched him he 
had found a silk hat somewhere, and 
was fooling around with it generally. 
Somebody tried to take it from him, 
and in the excitement of the struggle 
he forgot where he was and jumped 
out of the trench. He ran for several 
yards along the parapet before he 

dropped back again. What 
the Boches thought of this 
sudden apparition of a 
kilted man in a silk hat 
(rather the worse for wear), 
running along the enemy- 
parapet, we had no means 
of ascertaining, but they 
seem to have been too 
surprised to shoot. When 
last seen, by the way, the 
4 congenial idiot ' was fight- 
ing heroically with five 
others against about thirty 
Germans at the bayonet- 
point. He has since been 
reported a prisoner in 
Germany, and, though his 

temper is likely to be sorely tried, Til bet he's 

cheerful still ! JT 
I asked the artist whet tier he had any 

difficulty in finding " subjects " to exercise 

his mirthful pencil upon. 

" None whatever/* was the reply. '* The 

whole thing is so grimly funny, so grotesquely 

absurd, that the humour of it all hits you 

in the eve — or not at all ! It is true that in 

temembered there was a war on. and 

<?} W'jcif l*i*2 mwh.' btjJe *^r»x: ^ke. 


\ LEW. 



sketch, for * five tall wil- 
lows ' which are under his 
nose all the time, though 
excusably difficult to recog- 
nize. The wise officer wiil 
direct his men to the spot 
* where there ought to lie 
five tall willows J ! 

11 But the humour of a 
situation is more often 
psychological than 
material. Philosophers tell 
one that ■ everything is 
relative/ and I am sure 
no one who has ever taken 
cover in a shell-hole will 
dispute that its size is 
entirely relative to the 
conditions under which it 
is occupied. I have en- 
deavoured to su,L r sest 
faintly the discrepancy 
between the size of a shell- 
hole when first viewed and 
its apparent dimensions 


A quptrafcitioiH soldier seeing five 

"mtn Ji in" coming straight . 'it him on 

a Friday. 

one sketch I have shown the 
professional humorist feeling 
decidedly out of a job, and I 
don't say that things strike you 
as funny all the time. Not by 
any means ! 

4t But the incongruities of life 
at the Front are very provo- 
cative" of humorous .situations. 
Some of ■ these are actual, us 
when dependence is placed upon 
some definite place or thing 
which, though definite enough 
at one moment, may as likely 
as not be, blown into infinity 
the next. One soon learns to he 
cautious in statements at the 
Front* It is no good, for 
instance, to direct a man to a 
certain spot by means of land- 
marks which have, perhaps, 
vanished by the time he gets 
there. Otherwise the novice 
may wander about all day 
looking* like the tyro in the 

l: L , T m, 

Proprietor of Dug-Out {fpiiiely)\ "Would you mind 
I the roof?" 




later orij when recourse must be had 
to it lor shelter. 

* ( Similarly I have endeavoured, in 
another sketch, to depict the soul- 
state of the superstitious soldier who 
sees five * minnies 3 coming straight 
at him on a Friday. A * minnie ' is 
Tommy's name for the shell thrown 
by the Mine mverfer, a kind of trench- 
mortar much beloved by the Boche, 
You can generally hear a * minnie p 
coming, and dodge her if you are 
smart ; but when there are five of 
her— and it's a Frarfay— well, of 
course, that is a bit unlucky. In 
fact, that sort of thing could only 
happen on a Friday ! 

li Then, of course, apart from the 
humour of general situations, a lot of 
ridiculous incidents occur that strike 
one as funny. During the operations 
on the Somme we were occupying, 
on one occasion, some old German 
trenches which had been so badly 
knocked about that we decided to 

1 1] I RST 


'Ello, it's ' Lance -CJorjxir a I r Bacutt again- Only one 
bloonnin' stripe in k I" 

make our ' dug-outs * outside the 
trench. The mud in the latter 
was knee-deep. Our habitation 
was about six feet square and 
three feet high, covered over 
with a few spars and one layer of 
sandbags, over which we spread 
six inches of soil to keep the rain 
out. From outside there was 
nothing to reveal the existence 
of a dug-out at all, unless you 
happened to see the entrance. 
Well; the roof held, despite an 
ominous sagging, which the 
soaking rain caused, all through 
the night and up to the early 
morning. Then a six teen- stone 
sergeant walked over it, and to 
his astonishment and ours joined 
us suddenly at breakfast. We 
helped him to a rasher, but he 
would have been more welcome 
had he come in through the 
door I 

" Very often things heard, as 
well as things seen, prompt one 
to a sketch. It is a fixed prin- 
ciple with Tommy to ( grouse * 
at anything and everything. It 
is his way of letting off steam, 
V^jQIigiRBtifJffllwould be amazed if vou 

UNIVER5lt^0^#HIG8N mbles seriously. 




Grousing must not be confused with com* 
phining — that's a very different affair, and as 
formal and serious as it is rare. It is of 
the essence of a ' grouse * that it shall be 
picturesquely and vividly phrased, generally 
in terms of ironic abuse, and some quaint 
metaphors frequently result, ' Lance-corporal 
Bacon/ which was the epithet I heard 
disgustedly applied 
to his breakfast 
ration by one 
soldier whom I 
sketched , is not a 
bad case in point. 
One also hears 
pithy (if somewhat 
lurid) remarks 
from the man who 
suddenly discovers 
that the rifle he has 
just cleaned with 
laborious care is 
not his ? but another 
man's. That's a 
stunt that never 
fails of joyous 
appreciation by all 
except the victim 
— especially by the 
owner of the rifle. 
"I might mention 

one things by the way, before X dry up, which 
the soldier fails to find any humour in what- 
soever. That's the French cobbled road — 
pavi is the right term, I believe. Of all the 
excruciating surfaces to march on this is the 
extreme limit. After several miles on these 
road s, carrying rifle, ammunition, equipment, 
and a heavy pack, each particular stone seems 
to develop a highly-sharpened point to torture 
your weary feet. Ask the infantryman what 
he thinks of i pavvy ' ! This is not one of 
the occasions when he smiles — though I ought 
to add that, with his usual happy knack in 
nicknames, he sometimes refers to a certain 
kind of Army biscuit — the hardest thing ever 
baked— as a ' pavvy ' t " 

Mr, Kirby's sketch-book has seen a lot of 
active service. It went through the cam- 
paign in German South-West Africa, where 
its owner was wounded ; to Egypt ; and to 
the Somme, where two more wounds were 
received. On the last occasion the book was 
very nearly (i reported missing/' for the 
artist was pretty weak when he crawled back 
after dark from " No Man's Land/' and it 
was the only thing he could bring with him. 
Everything else " went overboard," 

At the time these notes were written, X."ij 
Kirby was expecting to go out to the Front 
once more. He was taking with him a new 
and ample sketch-book, and readers of The 
Strand Magazine, I am sure, will join in 
hoping that in due course he will bring it 
back crammed with more pictures embodying 
his own humorous view of the latest — and 
final — events of the wan ._ 





Illustrated by A. E. Home. 


T was in rS86 that there 
seemed to be a slump in 
crime, and so Clerkenwell 
Prison was closed and my 
decade of service therein came 
to an end. My interest, how- 
ever, in all matters relating 
to crime and its manifold causes, in the steady 
progress of prison reform, in the extension of 
child-saving and of temperance work as the 
chief factors in cutting off the supplies of 
crime, and in the well-being of prisoners' aid 
societies, remained unabated, I am still on 
the committee of two discharged prisoners* 
aid societies, and warden of the Guild of 
SS. Paul and Silas (a prayer union for the 
benefit of prisoners and prison workers), 
which I founded in 1881, Still, also, I 
frequently find myself in dreams again in 
my old harness, and in probably the majority 
of my visions of the night do I find myself 
either on the Swiss mountains or in the 
Clerkenwell cells, The publisher of one of 
my books on prison matters suggested that 
I might make another of a more anecdotal 
kind — which has not shaped itself in my 
mind* It may be, however, that some prison 
yarns will prove of interest, a few of which are 
transcribed from my recent book, §i How 
Criminals are Hade and Prevented/' which 
comparatively few have read. 

There was a Scotch prison chaplain, 
somewhat conscious of his own import- 
ance, and perhaps injuriously mindful 
of the difference between the prisoner 
and the chaplain rather than healthily 
conscious of the points they had in 
common, who, finding himself not 
received in a certain cell with some 
outward evidence of respect, said, 
11 Don't you know who I am, my man ? " 
"Ou ^ aye," was the answer, " I ken ye 
fine. Ve've emptied two chapels ■ but 
ye'll no empty this ane ! M 

1 tried to be warned by such 
examples in the daily addresses or 
talks I gave in chapel, and possibly in 
consequence the following incident hap- 
pened. Going to the prison library 
I managed, the prisoner whose u hard 
labour " was to mend the books therein 
—an educated man who had committed 
some fraud — said) " Sir, may I speak to 
you ? ** " Certainly ; what is it ? " " I want 
to tell you something I heard in chapel " 
(wherein conversation may entail a dietary 
restriction). " A man behind me said to 
his neighbour, £ That chaplain ! What of 
*im ? T E's a rum *un, 3 e is. *E come into 
my cell and said, t{ Now, my friend, you talk 
straight to me and I'll talk straight to you ! " 
Ah, an J 5 e do talk straight, don't "'e ? I think 
Vs one of us — turned, ye know/ " This I 
took, and take, as one of the few compli- 
ments I have deserved, establishing my 
difference from the Scotch chaplain herein- 
before mentioned. 

One of the prisoners, a very typical 
Cockney burglar, afforded me much instruc- 
tion and occupation for not a few years in 
my endeavours to straighten and elevate his 
1 i f e — e v en t ual 1 y wi t h ent i r e su ccess , One d ay 
I was walking with him down Black friars 
Road when his attention was attracted by 
a house with an ironwork porch to the front 
door reaching almost up to the first floor. 
"Ah," he said; "neat, but very handy/' 
Telling this yarn in Bedford Park, where I 
lived mosGrit]m?ljSratm life, an artist friend 
"^CWrt-'EfcSfiPT ^WfcHllSffl^n appeared a 




picture of two Salvationist soldiers with 
their concertinas passing through that Can- 
cum-Norman Shaw pioneer * ¥ garden city/' 
and saying, "Ah, brother, there was a time 
when them balconies would have been very 
handy ! " 

Another time, soon after my marriage, this 
same burglar was supping with me and 
my wife in Holland Road in one of the 
interstices of freedom which occurred in his 
institutional life. Taking up one of the. 
silver spoons I had inherited, he remarked 
with a reminiscent grin and sigh, " Many 
dozens of 'em I've p ad." 

His name was Jemmy, and at the beginning 
of another interstice he gave me his jimmy (or 
housebreaker's crowbar), remarking that it 
wouid perhaps be more safe in my possession 
than in his. True ; and as it is made of finu 
Bessemer steel I have often found it useful 
in opening wooden cases. 

What first made me see possibilities of 
reform in Jemmy was his sense of humour — 
which is rare amongst criminals, and my 
diagnosis eventually (after many ups :uu\ 
downs) proved to be correct, although the 

warders thought my then in* 
experience had led me to hope 
for the hopeless. During the 
stay in Her Majesty's Teetotal 
Hotel which first introduced us 
to one another there was a new 
dietary imported, and one day 
there was delivered through the 
wicket in the cell door the first 
meal of boiled haricot beans, 
surmounted with a small square 
of fat pork — two ounces, if my 
memory serves me* Hardly had 
the warder passed to the next 
cell before Jemmy rang his bell, 
" What is it ? " said the warder, 
gruffly, as he opened the wicket. 
" Please, sir/' with a most 
innocent air, asked Jemmy, 
" what am I to do with all the 
'am as I can't eat ? " " Grease 
your *'air with it," said the 
warder, as he slammed the 
wicket to. 

I was probably immune from 
professional visits from my 
friends partly because there 
was a common idea that it was 
unlucky to steal from clergy- 
men (would that the same 

^rmtjfnal from 



idea prevailed as to borrowing on false 
pretences !)♦ and partly because many knew 
me as a friend in need. The story has errone- 
ously been told ot me that one day a man 
who laid himself out to befriend ex-criminals 
lost a valuable watch. Calling one who he 
Thought might be able to tract and reclaim 
it, he was told that it was too late, as several 
clays had passed and the watch had certainly 
been " boiled down." l VHow much was it 
worth ? n u About twenty pounds, but I value 
it beyond that as a memorial." " Can't get 
it ; but as you have been very good to us 
chaps, 1 tell you what I'll do. 1 knows an 


old gent as *as got one worth forty pounds* 
riJ get you that;" Then the social worker 
began to doubt if his moral influence was 
very effective. 

It was often difficult to convince a thief 
of the wrongness of thieving. " Well, sir, 
the old gent, was very drunk, and if I hadn't 
taken his watch someone else would/* Bui 
when I set up in business as a purveyor of 
firewood bundles in a shed I hired near the 
prison, and when one night it was broken 
into and the tools were stolen, the indigna- 
tion of the discharged prisoners I was em- 
plciving therein was real and amusing. 

The criminals most to he dreaded and most 

t> be punished are those who have taken to 
crime from choice, without either heredity or 
early environment having put them in the 
wrong path. Such was Charles Peace, the 
astute and inventive burglar (hanged eventu- 
ally for murder), who was under my care for 
some w r eeks on remand. In appearance he 
resembled a half-caste crossing-sweeper more 
than Bill Sikes, and he was a proper old 
humbug until his guilt could no longer be 
denied. But he put a truth effectively before 
me when he said in my first talk with him : 
M If a minister really believed in his work it 
would pay him not merely to go a Sabbath 
day's journey to preach, but 
to go there on his hands and 
knees on broken bottles," 

Malingering in prison arises 
chiefly from two causes: the 
desire to escape the modicum 
of work which is nicknamed 
hard labour ; to * ( fetch the 
farm/' t,e. ? to get into the ease 
and comparative luxury of the 
infirmary; and the hope before 
trial of being acquitted as 
insane or of obtaining a light 
term as an invalid. So a 
man successfully persuaded our 
genial old doctor that he was 
a paralytic, and as such he 
was taken on a stretcher to 
the Middlesex Sessions on 
Clarkenwell Green and 
received, though oft convicted, 
a light sentence. But the doctor 
at Cold bath Fields was a man 
of di'erent type, and so, with 
apparent sympathy, gave cer- 
tain directions to a couple of 
warders as to moving him 
from his cell to the infirmary. 
They took him up, arrayed 
in only a "cutty sack," and, 
traversing the galleries, began to desire a 
rest from his weight. They set him down on 
an iron grating belonging to the heating 
apparatus. Up jumped the man and fled, 
with a tessellated pattern on his rob?. 

For the right diagnosis of any moral 
disease one has always to be mindful of 
" Not whether, but why * " Any fool can 
observe phenomena : a wise man seeks tin it 
cause or causes* I have had murderers 
under my care whom I could almost have 
hanged with my own hands, and others for 
whom I had ■considerable pity. So once I 
had a child. charged with arson. She had set 
fire UtMl "A&RiilS^s^Mi^VlllCiAl^ Afcl which she had 



been sent in kindness to be trained by 
discipline and love. A very serious crime, 
ranking near to murder. No doubt about 
the whether ; she admitted it. But why ? 
" Why did you do it, child? ? ' "It was the love 
of praise," she answered. The connection was 
not obvious, but on further inquiry I found 
that shortly before a fire had broken out 
there, and she had promptly extinguished it. 
She gained praise for her action, and this 
praise was so pleasant (and I fear so rare 
where discipline came before love, instead of 
love before discipline), that to get a little 
more she started a fire herself. 

There were but a few conventional ways of 
attempting self-murder ; one old man, how- 
ever, struck out a new line for himself. He 
filled his mouth with gunpowder and then 
put a match to it, thinking his head would 
be blown off. But of course the explosion 
took place laterally, through his lips, and the 
only result was a blackened mouth. 

It was noticeable that attempts involving 
the shedding of blood hardly ever occurred 
amongst women, At the back of their minds 
there seemed to be the idea, born of domestic 
duties, " There will be a mess, and I shall have 
to wipe it up/' 

While I came 
daily to the prison 
from Chiswick in 
the dark and sul- 
phurous Metro- 
politan Railway 
of its unregene- 
rate days, my 
rharges came by 
bus, the well- 
known Black 
Maria, which is 
interiorly two 
rows of narrow 
cells with a pas- 
sage between. 
1 lie Royal initials 
were on its side, 
and I remember 
once having to 
pacify a lunatic 
who had to be 
removed to an 
asylum. He did 
not want to go 
anywhere. w Oh, 
but the Queen has 
sent a carriage 
for you." <( A 
carriage ? What, 
om of them with 


V\R t on the side ? " " Yes, that stands for her 
name, Victoria Regina, you know," " No, it 
don't ; it stands for Vagabonds Removed/' 
Insanity had not bereft him of reason. 

One ingenious man, being conveyed to us 
from the police-court in a Black Maria, found 
that the floor of his cell was loose, or to be 
loosened. Here was a chance ! He dropped 
through the floor to freedom, which was, 
however, of a strictly temporary character, 
since, unable to see where he was, the vehicle 
was just outside Coldbath Fields Prison, and 
around him were warders awaiting the time 
for their going in to duty. 

This is not the time or the place to speak 
of matters of religion, but yet one illustrative 
anecdote 1 must telL A warder came to me 
for a Hebrew Old Testament on which a Jew 
might be sworn. I got one from the library, 
but met the prisoner going to see his solicitor 
with our English Bible under his arm, I 
showed that I had got what he required, 
" Thank you, sir, it's of no consequence. I 
only kiss my side of the Book/' So do many 
only kiss their favourite text or fact, regardless 
of those which are at least complementary. 
" 'Tain't all 'oney, 'ousebreaking ain't/' 

said to me a 
burglar who had 
been caught while 
waiting for long 
on a very cold 
night for a favour- 
able opportunity 
to enter a villa. 
So may one say 
prison work is 
neither all gloom 
nor all d i s a p- 
pointmentj and 
its retrospect 
from outside 
brings to the 
right sort of 
religious and 
social worker not 
a feeling of relief, 
but rather of 
regret that it is 
no longer our 
daily round, no 
trivial task, but 
furnishing all we 
need to ask if we 
want to under- 
stand men with 
a view to their 
.ime reform and 



Could She Have Done It? 


Illustrated by F. Graham Cootes. 

Corinna is a study of a woman by a Woman — apparently a portrait from 
the life. Jfnd yet t even among the sex which de Mussel once spok? of 
too sweepingly, as u adorable ei ahsurde" can such girls be ? The 
question is one which We should tike to put to our lady-readers, who are 
much better judges than We are. We have never known a Corinna. 

Have you ? 

I T was Corinna' s birthday, and 
she was unhappy. None of 
her friends, had they known 
her state, could have ferreted 
out any possible reason for 
her discontent ; but definite 
reasons may have little to do 
with it when a woman is vaguely, consumingly, 
supremely unhappy. 

Corinna had been engaged to Andrew 
Benson for three months, Andy was hand- 
some, agreeable, successful. Moreover, he 
was desperately in love with Corinna. She 
knew that, yet she was unhappy. 

As for Benson, during these swift, slow, 
happy, miserable three months he had come 
to understand Corinna so well that he realized 
he understood her not at all. He understood 
her cloaked sentimentality, her amazing 
poise, her underlying tenderness so deep that 
he could not plumb it. He understood her 
enormous concern for trifles, her foolish 
sensitiveness., her swift rancour which, at 
unexpected times, thrust out so that her own 
sweetness might allay the venom's sting. 
He understood that her calmness was not 
always calmness ; that her indifference was 
not always indifference ; that her sweet 
poise might mask whatever complex feelings 
there may be in woman. Woman ! Benson 
figuratively threw up his hands, The more 
he understood her the more he marvelled at 
her incomprehensibility. And — for such is 
the way of love— by each new line of attack, 
be it sweetness or rebuff, did the girl make 
him fall in love anew. 

Corinna realized — what woman doesn't ? — 
her power. Yet T on this, her birthday, she 
was submerged in unhappiness. 

Of course she realized why, on this day, 

he couldn't be with her, That he had 
explained a week before ; the stupendous 
ineonsi deration of the great business magnate 
who had chosen the day before this very 
date to arrive in London on business, staying 
only till the day after. His visit, and its 
possible outcome, was of paramount import- 
ance in Benson's career* She knew that, 
And so she assured Benson the evening he 
regretfully told her of the frustration of their 
own plans. 

'• I understand how it is, Andy/' she said, 
" You go on and look after them, and don't 
think of me." 

How sweet, how lovely she looked saying 
that ! 

Benson caught her hand. 

11 Of course I'll think of you ! " he declared. 
u I shall be thinking of you all the time. 

^ "Oh, no, you mustn't do that," protested 
Corinna, gravely. " You must put your 
whole mind on business. I shall understand, 
and plan something else and be perfectly 

'* Don't be too happy ! " demanded Benson, 

" All right, then, I won't/' she promised ; 
and they smiled and squeezed hands. 

11 I can send you some matinie tickets, 

' Oh, don't bother," said Corinna. 
» I*U » 

' But I want to " insisted Benson, u Please 
let me — to please myself. I want to feel 
I'm taking part in your birthday/' 

Torinna lifted her eyes, like stars washed 
in dew, 

' Dear gMgftttrijf tori just didn't want vou 

'^?l^™fflrawf • that wa * «F 



He put his arms around her and drew her 
to him ; but even while that immeasurably 
sweet tumult was born again to charge the 
air between them, Benson, with a curious 
little side-thought, thanked God for the 
unparalleled common-sense of his wonderful 

Two days passed, and Benson was a trifle 
busier than usual, preparing for the imminent 
personage. He was forced to break a dinner 
engagement with Corinna, and for the first 
time neglected to telephone her a good night. 
The next day brought the visitor, and Benson 
was isolated in a flurry of affairs. 

Corinna felt almost as if he were in a foreign 
country. She kept repeating to herself that 
she must learn to be reasonable about his 
business, and never become one of those 
foolish women who do not understand. 

Not until the night before her birthday did 
he ring her up. 

" I've just a minute," he greeted her over 
the wire, " but I wanted to hear your voice." 

Corinna's answer was sweet enough to 
justify his wish. 

"I'm rushing to meet Fowler and his 
people," Benson went on. " I'm late already, 
but " 

" You'd better hurry, then. Don't waste 
time by talking to me." There was no 
perceptible change in Corinna's voice, but 
Benson answered quickly : — 

4 ' I want to waste my time that way, you 
know that." 

Corinna said nothing. Benson went on 
explaining : — 

" I've got to eat with the s whole tiresome 
crew. Then the theatre. After that I hope 
they won't expect me to take them home 
and tuck them in bed." 

The little joke evidently was lost on 

44 Oh, you're going to the theatre ? What 
are you to see ? " 

Scarcely a second it took to say these 
words. Yet time enough for a whole flock 
of thoughts to dart through Corinna's mind. 
They, the two of them, had planned the 
theatre for this very evening. Then, when 
all their beautiful plans had been swept to 
fragments, Benson had asked to send her 
the matinie tickets — only three days ago — 
had he forgotten ? Was it possible that his 
concern for others, mere business acquaint- 
ances, already outweighed his remembrance 
of things connected with her ? There had 
been a time, long ago it seemed, when the 
meres*- trifle touching Herself 

The swift, clear-detailed wave of reflection 
swept through her mind, colouring it, but 
not colouring her voice as calmly she ques- 
tioned : — 

" Oh, what are you to see ? " 

Benson told her. 

" I must tear along now," he added. " I 
just wanted to hear your voice, and wish 
you ' many happy returns of the day.' " 

" I wish you wouldn't say that," said 

" Say what ? " he asked, surprised. 

" The * happy returns ' thing." 

" Well, for Heaven's sake, why not ? It's 
just " 

" I only meant I wish you wouldn't say 
it now. It's bad luck to say it before the 
birthday — nullifies itself. I'd rather you'd 
wait till the day after " 

" Well, I won't wait till the day after," 
he declared. " I'll call you up to-morrow — 
you absurd young thing ! I'm sorry I was 
wrong to-night. I only wanted you to know 
I was thinking about you, and that I was 
eager to " 

Corinna interrupted him. 

" You needn't go into detailed explana- 
tions — apologies — with me, Andy ; you're 
always doing it. And you're already late, 
you said." 

" You're right there," he agreed. " And 
I'm hot as the dickens in this telephone-box, 
bundled up in a fur overcoat." 

" I wouldn't, for the world, have you make 
yourself uncomfortable talking to me." 
Corinna's voice still retained its extreme 

" What's that ? " he demanded, suddenly, 
" What is the matter with you to-night, 
Corinna ? Don't you feel well ? " 

Unfortunate, blundering Benson ! After 
the immemorial manner of man, accusing 
woman, when her mood is unresponsive, of 
" not feeling well." And after the imme- 
morial manner of woman, in such case, 
Corinna's resentment chillingly sweetened her 

" What makes you think I don t feel well ? " 

" Oh — I don't know. You sound so queer." 

" Queer— how ? " 

" How can I say ? " Benson's voice was 
tinged with gloom. u The only thing I 
definitely know is that I've got to be off. 
Just tell me, sweetheart, that you do feel 
well, and that you love " 

" Please don't say such things over the 
telephone," interrupted Corinna. 

" rSVlffiiE^^IC.HIM you must 




hurry on to your important people. 

" Well/* he said, lingering, " I'll 
try to run in to see you for a minute 
in the morning." 

" Don't try to crowd 
you're so busy*" 

" 1 must crowd it in 
some way. Don't you 
want to see me? " His 
tone was hesitant, a little 

if Of course, it will be 
nice to see you/' she said, 
brightly. "Now hurry, 
before you get overheated 
and catch cold. 

With the unsat- 
tingling in his 
ears, someho w 
permeating h i s 
whole system, 
Benson, vainly 
puzzling at the 
reason, pondering 
yet again the unfathomable 
ways of woman, hastened to 
meet his friends and a 
dampened evening. 

Corinna's evening was no 
brighter. Why was she un- 
happy ? She felt sure Andy 
loved her as much as ever ; 
and she mustn't become one 
of those women who strive 
to thrust forth emotion as mans first 
consideration. Yet — something within her 
choked up the reflection— there had been a 
t'me when to Andy she was the first con- 
sideration in the whole world. 

Romance was evanescent — she had always 
heard that. But surely — not yet! — only 
three months ! In those first days, when 
their love was new and palpitant and wonder- 
ful, she could scarcely make him ring off— 
never would he have known whether the box 
was hot ! Always now, he seemed to tele- 
phone on the run. And she never to be con- 
sidered first— but a sort of by-issue, an after- 
thought Yes, an after- thought ! He had 
even forgotten to mention the matinie tickets j 
probably had them in his pocket, just waiting 
to bring them in the morning, in a taken-for- 
granted manner. 

And then, as she stood there reflecting, a 
great hot tear trickled down her cheek. 
Amazed at her state, uncomprehending it, 



rebellious against it, yet fostering it, Corinna 
hastily undressed and sobbed herself to sleep. 

Corinna" s birthday dawned bright and 
crisp; her heart, too, in the miracle of 
sleep, had lost its bitterness. In happy 
anticipation, she put on the soft blue dress 
that he liked best. She spread out her gifts 
to show him, clipped an item from the 
morning paper which would amuse him, made 
mental memoranda of the things she particu- 
larly wanted to tell him — it seemed an age 
since they had really talked together. 

So it was a flushed, star-eyed, expectant 
Corinna who answered the telephone when 
Benson rang up. Things had developed, he 
explained, so that he couldn J t come to her 
all day, 

" I'm frightfully disappointed ! Are you, 
Corinna ? " 

" Of course. But I'm so busy myself with 
a jumble of ^W.n^g that perhaps it's just as 

. w *EfefiTOrt^'3ffl sur P rised at her 



tone ; without her dictation, it seemed to 
have made itself coolly impersonal. 

Benson either did not catch it, or chose to 
ignore it. 

" Maybe I can run up at tea-time," he said. 
" I don't know yet just how things will shape 
out, but " 

44 I'm sorry," cut in Corinna, still in that 
excessively calm voice, " but I'm intending 
to go out." 

44 Oh ! " said Benson. He paused ; then : 
" Of course, I can't ask you to stay in, since 
I'm not sure I can come, can I ? " 

His inflection clearly indicated his hope. 
But Corinna did not respond to it. 

44 I seem to be unlucky," Benson went on. 
" Anyway, I wanted to give you my greeting, 
and to say I'm sending something by a 

Again, in that swiftly mysterious way in 
which a multitude of thoughts can flash, 
like a packed lightning bolt, clean through 
one's mind, Corinna reflected : " If he's going 
to send those tickets now, I won't take them. 
He assumes that all this while I've been 
sitting docilely waiting for them. Anyway, 
I never did like the idea — his thinking he 
can pack me, without him, off to the theatre. 
That's the way one treats poor relations — 
or servants ! I'll tell him so, too, when he 
mentions them, not in an ill-tempered way, 
but as though it were a joke. But I'll be 
firm about not accepting the tickets." 

All this in a second ; aloud she was 
saving : — 

" Oh, lovely' What is it, Andy ? " 

44 That would be telling," replied Benson, 
his voice? eager and gay again. 

44 I know — roses," suggested Corinna. 

44 No, I'm not going to tell you," main- 
tained Benson. 

44 Shall I like it?" 

44 I hope so. I shall be anxious to know. 
I wanted to bring it myself. Maybe I can 
catch you for a minute this afternoon — as 
soon as I get back." 

44 Get back ? " repeated Corinna. 

44 Oh, didn't I tell you ? We're all 
motoring up to Briggs's place ; he's a 
big-wig, you know." 
4 That will be nice." 

44 Yes, I really expect to enjoy it. But I 
shall be hoping to see you, by some lucky 

Corinna, however, gave him no encourage- 
ment. And as she hung up the receiver, 
conscious that Andy was troubled, she 
wondered how that strange, gnawing pain 
h id again crept into her heart. 

Presently the messenger arrived with the 
package. Her first glance told her it was not 
flowers ; the first time, on an " occasion," 
Andy had failed to send her roses ! 

Half-heartedly "she undid the wrappings. 
It was a picture, a coloured etching, Whistler's 
44 Battersea Bridge." Beautiful, of course, 
but not roses. Oh, well, pictures were more 
enduring than flowers, and sentiment could 
not last forever. When one became engaged, 
she supposed, one should accustom oneself to 
practicality. " And when one married ! 

As Corinna meditated thus for some 
minutes she forgot the matinie tickets she had 
planned to spurn, which he had not sent at 
all. When that recollection finally came to 
her it brought a slow, sardonic smile to her 
lovely features. Woe to any man who 
causes the woman he loves to ridicule herself. 
And double woe to him whose beloved has 
in her mind staged a pretty quarrel, with 
honours on her side, but who — poor wretch — 
has not intuitively known his cue. 

Corinna had little appetite for the luncheon 
of favourite delicacies which honoured the 
day. After luncheon she declined two invita- 
tions for the afternoon. She felt as if she 
never could feel gay again, as if she never 
could endure seeing others gay. When the 
shadows began to lengthen across the Park 
she put on her wraps and went out for a 

Dispassionately Corinna reviewed their 
case. She had learned to love him because 
of his impassioned and outright adoration. 
For that, and the look in his eyes — that 
eager, helpless, bewildered, questioning look. 
Also, a little, she had loved him for the way 
he rubbed his hair the wrong way. But, 
most of all, she had loved him because he 
loved her. 

And now ! Was this always the way with 
love ? — with lovers ? Did the keen, rap- 
turous edge wear off so soon, to be replaced 
by the commonplace ? Already his love was 

Well, he should never have the satisfaction 
of knowing she cared. Anyway, she didn't 
seem to care — much ; there were no longer 
any keen stabs of pain, only a feeling of dead- 
ness all through her being, body and soul. 
Evidently she hadn't cared as much for him 
as she supposed. This fact she would show 
him ! Even now, probably, he was fancying 
her sitting at home, waiting for him to 
wedge in a stray, convenient moment to run 
in and see her. Well, he should see ! She'd 
stay out so late that, when he called up, hed 
miss her.^^Tb-iriorro^rtftvlLgW^^'lould elude 



lum. And then, when finally she did allow 
him to see her again . . . 

In imagination, as she pictured this scene 
of refined cruelty, she saw that hurt, be- 
wildered look come into Benson's eyes. And 
the girl, walking alone in the chilly, darkening 
Park, did not find the vision displeasing. 

It was quite dangerously late when she 
left the Park and returned home. She 
assumed an indifferent manner as she in- 
quired whether there had been any telephone 
calls. Yes, two; but neither, as it turned 
out, was from Benson. Again her fellow- 
player had missed his cue. 

Even as she asked the telephone rang. 
Corinna swiftly meditated : "If that's 
Andy I'll make them tell him I'm not at 
home. I don't want to talk with him." 

But it was not Andy ; the fact that she 
had unnecessarily discomposed herself did 
jiot help Corinna back to composure. 

At this inauspicious point the doorbell 
rang, and, unannounced, was ushered in — 
Andy. He was ruddy and bright-eyed from 
the cold, and his manner was impetuously 

Corinna thought : " He looks at me like this 
now, and he's been neglecting me for days ! " 

Aloud, speaking with superior, maternal- 
like compassion, she said : " You poor thing, 
motoring in all this cold. You must be 

Benson caught her to him. " Oh, but it's 
good to see you once more. I felt as if I 
never was going to see you . again ! * Where 
have you been so long, Corinna ? ,f 

Corinna wriggled gently out of his embrace. 

" Has it really been long, Andy ? I've 
been so busy." 

" Tell me everything you've been doing ! " 
he demanded. " Everything." 

" Oh, I haven't been doing anything 
important." She favoured him with her 
sweetest smile. " I leave all that to you." 

Benson tried to return her smile, but a 
troubled look crept round his eyes. Mutely 
beseeching, he followed her across the room 
and put out his hands. 

" Oh ! Your hands are cold ! " she gasped, 
with a tiny shiver. "Do go and sit down, 
Andy. You make me nervous." 

He did not obev, but held her hands more 

" What's the matter, dear ? " he asked. 

" Matter ? " Corinna's inflection ran the 
octave of surprise. " What makes you 
think any thing's the matter ? " 

" You act so strangely." 

" Strangely— how ? " 

Benson gazed back at her helplessly. 

" Come, sit down," said Corinna, with- 
drawing her hands. She was, all at once, 
the poised, tactful hostess, putting her guest 
at ease. " Did you have a pleasant day ? " 

Now, as it happened, Benson had had a 
particularly pleasant day, swift-moving, stimu- 
lating, promising material returns ; and, being 
only a man, with no feminine intuitions to 
guide him, he couldn't possibly know that 
Corinna passionately hoped he had been 
wretched. So he blundered. 

" Oh, we had a gorgeous time," he replied, 
brightening under her interest. " Old Briggs 
has a beautiful place up there — a regular show 
place. You must see it some time." 

Corinna nodded, already staring dreamily 
into space. 

" And we had a splendid luncheon — a lot 
of nice people." 

" Oh, it was a party ? " Corinna brought 
her eyes back to him for a second. 

" Not a party exactly. Just our crowd ; 
and then Fowler's daughter is staying there, 
you know, and " 

" No, I didn't know," said Corinna, rising, 
moving to the table, and turning on another 
light. " Is she pretty ? " she politely asked, 
as she resumed her seat. 

" No— o, not exactly pretty," pondered 
Benson. " But she's attractive as the 
deuce. Bright and spontaneous and natural 
you know." 

Benson, before this, had failed to conceal 
the fact that he found feminine types attrac- 
tive which were not the type of Corinna. 
Corinna rose again to fuss with the lamp. 

"I'm gfad you had such a pleasant time," 
she commented. " One imagines that busi- 
ness ordinarily must be so tiresome." 

Benson sat staring at her, thinking how 
pretty she looked, wondering why he wasn't 
as happy as he had been when he came. 

44 Tell me what you've been doing all this 
time ? " he asked. " Have you had a 
pleasant birthday ? " 

44 Yes, very, thanks," replied Corinna. 

It was on his tongue to ask how she liked 
the picture, but he refrained ; odd, how he 
could suddenly feel so self-conscious about 
that — with Corinna. Corinna, too, was think- 
ing about the picture. Thought of it hunjr 
heavily between them, almost like a visible, 
tangible object. But Benson asked instead :— 

44 What did you do ? " 

" Oh, a number of things." 

" Oh, I see, we're not telling things this 
evening/' He tried to* make his voi:e 
quizzically cheerful/ HIGAN 



Corinna lazily stretched her slim arms 

44 Aren't you staying a long while away 
from your personage ? " she murmured. 

" I've chucked him for to-night/' smiled* 
Benson. " I simply couldn't stand it a 

minute longer — it seemed so long ■" He 

interrupted himself, suddenly leaning forward 
with that boyish, pleading expression Corinna 
knew so well. " Doesn't it seem ages to you, 
Corinna ? " 

But Corinna was not looking at him. She 
regarded her outstretched hands languidly. 

41 Does what seem ages, Andy ? " 

44 Corinna, look at me ! " commanded 

Obediently she turned her soft, dark eyes 
to his, smiling. 

44 You perverse little thing ! " His tone was 
half- exasperated, half-beseeching. " I've a 
mind not to invite you to dinner, after all." 

The girl continued to regard him, not 
changing her non-committal smile. 

44 I chucked Fowler and bolted up here 
to tell you," continued Benson. " Won't it 
be jolly to have a cosy little dinner again ? " 

44 Yes," said Corinna, " but " 

44 But what ? " 

44 1 have another engagement. I'm sorry." 

44 I'm sorry, too." Benson's eyes and tone 
corroborated his words. There was a pause 
for a long minute ; then, speaking slowly, 
he said : 4< Of course, I couldn't expect you 
to keep the evening free ; but it was your 
birthday, and I hoped I might be lucky 
and " 

44 I'm sorry," said Corinna, again. 

Another k>fig silence. It was Benson who 
broke it. 

44 1 suppose I might as well be moving. 
You'll be wanting to dress." 

If he hoped that the star-eyed, cryptic 
young thing, sitting there so radiantly calm, 
would disclaim his suggestion, would urge 
him to stay, he was fated to disappointment. 

41 1 suppose I ought to begin to dress," she 
admitted. She raised a slender hand rather 
wearily, and pressed the palm against her 
temple. " I dread it — my head aches so." 

44 Oh, you poor darling ! " Benson jumped 
up from his chair, crossed to hers, bent over 
her. 4 A So that's the trouble. Why didn't you 
tell me before ? I knew something was the 

Again that aggravating blunder — the persis- 
tent masculine assumption that whenever a 
woman " disciplines " a man, she must 
necessarily be ill. 

Corinna, immensely true to her sex, hid 

her consuming resentment beneath the dark- 
blue softness of her eyes. She even smiled 
as she murmured : — 

" I'm sorry I bored you." 

" Oh, it isn't that — you know it isn't 
that ! " He laid his cheek against her soft 
hair. " Corinna, sweetheart, don't be so 
unkind to me." 

44 I'm sorry" — her repetition of that phrase 
began to cut into him acutely — 4< I didn't 
intend to be unkind." Her gaze wandered 
to the clock, and she gave a start. " It is 
late," she ejaculated, " and I must " 

44 Well, I'll be going," Benson said, dully. 
He moved towards the door. The question 
of the picture, his unmentioned birthday 
gift, hung, as it had hung throughout their 
talk, heavily between them. 

Corinna, for some reason known only to 
herself and to her kind, waited until he had 
reached the door before she exclaimed : — 

44 Oh, I nearly forgot ! Your picture ! " 

44 Oh, yes," said Benson, striving to sound 
as though he had utterly forgotten the trifling 
thing's existence. 

44 Thank you so much for it. It's charming 
— Whistler's things always are." 

" I thought you'd like it." Benson's tone 
had lightened, and he loosed his grip on the 

44 Yes, it's charming," repeated Corinna. 

" I hunted all over the place for it," 
explained Benson, warming yet more. " I 
wanted to get just the right thing. And 
when I ran across this — it's hand-coloured — 
you see " 

44 Yes, it's — exquisite." Corinna glancing, 
— perhaps unconsciously — at the clock, found 
a new adjective. But Benson did not ob- 
serve ; he was too busy feeling relieved. He 
was repeating : — 

44 I'm so glad you like it — I wanted to get 
just the right thing. I first intended to send 
some roses, but " 

He was interrupted by an exclamation. 

" Oh ! some roses ! " Only three words, 
but the tone was marvellously complex. It 
drew Benson up short in his enthusiasm. 

44 Why," he asked, in some surprise, 44 you 
wouldn't rather have had the roses, would 
you, dear ? " 

Corinna smiled at him, a reassuring, 
patient, determinedly polite kind of smile. 

44 Why no, of course not, Andy. But " 

44 But what, dear ? Surely you can be 
perfectly frank with me ? " 

" Well," she smiled at him, wistfully, 
deprecatinglyj bringing out her words as 
if against her will, 4< you know how it is with 



me and flowers— they seem the loveliest gazing at her in consternation, fumbled his 
things in the world/ 1 words. u This etching was such a beautiful 

"I knowj but I thought- — — " Benson, thing, and more enduring " 

u Yes , I know. Enduring things are 

the most sensible, I suppose that's 

the reason "—again that appealing, 

pathetic little smile — u that we always 

treasure perishable things as the 

loveliest, I suppose I'm silly, but 

flowers — a ny kind of 

flowers — mean more to me 

than anything else in the 


I'm sorry I blundered/ 1 
he said, ruefully. (i I 


» the io^W¥iR»WdF#llBMKAN 



hope you'll let me send you some to wear 
to-night ? " 

44 Oh, no, thanks : I have some. And I 
didn't mean you to infer " 

" I don't infer anything. I'm only sorry 
I didn't hit on the right thing. I remem- 
bered you were planning your room in that 
shade of blue " 

" Oh, it would never do for that ! " inter- 
rupted Corinna. " It's an off-colour — and 
you know nothing fights so as off-colours of 
blue. Besides, I already have so many 
pictures. I don't like too many pictures." 

" I see it's a misfit all around," said Benson, 
slowly. " If you'll let me have it back " 

" Now you're feeling hurt," she reproached, 

" I'll feel hurt if you won't let me get 
something that really pleases you," he said, 
doggedly. "'Something that fits in. Any- 
way, I should love to have the picture for 

Corinna lifted her shoulders slightly. 

" Oh, if that's the way you feel about it, 
of course you may have it back. I'll send it 
in the morning." 

" No, I'll send a boy for it," he insisted. 
" Now I'll clear out of your way. I hope 
you'll have a nice time to-night." 

" Well, I sha'n't unless I run now and 
literally jump into my evening gown." She 
laughed gaily, closed the door after him, and 
then did run to her room — that she might 
throw herself, rent by sharp, uncontrollable 
sobs, upon her bed. 

What was this hateful thing she carried 
inside her — this hot, passionate desire to 
make the person she loved unhappy, even 
while it stabbed more cruelly at herself ? 
This fever, a mighty feeling that springs 
out of the dark and subtly steals over one 
until it poisons the whole being ; the pas- 
sionate obsession to hurt, even while it breaks 
cne's own heart ; which drives one on and 
on, glorying in the racking secrecy of its 
turmoil, not allowing one's eyes to moisten, 
one's calm to falter, nor any slightest betrayal 
through that hideously cruel composure ? 
What was it that had made her so resentful 
against Andy ? 

Were all women like this ? Or was it 
only she who was a vindictive, ill-tempered 
creature ? No wonder, as he grew to know 
her, that his love was waning. II as it 
waning ? Did he realize what a petty, 
despicable thing she was ? Desperately she 
put the question to that version, with deep- 
set, serious eyes, which rose up to haunt her 
— those eyes which could light up with such 
wonderful sweetness, when he smiled. Little 

remembrances of his tenderness thrust out 
before -her, and, without warning, a great 
sob tore its way up from her aching heart. 

A door opened. Alarmed, she smothered 
her mouth with her arm. It was a maid, 
to deliver a letter and to say the messenger 
was waiting for an answer. 

It was a note from Andy, very brief, 
asking her to give the picture to the waiting 

Stumbling, spasmodic, then clear and 
definite, thoughts went charging through 
Corinna's brain, leaving her, in a quick and 
marvellous way, quite calm and resolved. 

She moved to her desk telephone, called 
Benson's number, and heard him answer. 

" It's Corinna," she said, in a sweet, 
collected voice. " The messenger's here, 
I just called to ask if I may keep the picture." 

" Why, of course, if you really want it." 
His voice sounded harsh and unsteady. 
" But if it's off-colour, what's the use " 

" I really want it, Andy. May I have 
it ? " 

" Why, of course." 

" And, Andy " 

" Yes ? " 

" I wish you could run round here for a 

He laughed, a discordant kind of laugh. 

" That's an amusing notion," he said. 

" Why amusing ? " 

" You ought to know." 

" I know I've asked you to come in for 
just a minute." A hint of impatience 
sharpened her voice. 

" That's sweet of you," he answered, dully, 
" but I know when I've had enough. I feel 
as if I couldn't crawl out of my hole just 

" Why, what's the matter, Andy ? " she 
asked, innocently. 

He laughed that harsh laugh again. 

" I suppose," she said, u that you want me 
to feel like a blot on the earth for spoiling 
your pleasant day, and " 

" Corinna," he begged. " Don't ! I can't 
stand any more just now. I'm somehow not 
fit to see anyone just now. . I'd rather come 

c< I particularly asked you to come to-night. 
If you don't care to, there needn't be any 
to-morrow." The words fell clear and cold, 
like icicles. 

" Corinna ! Do you know you're talking 
to me like the very devil ? And I don't like 
it! I " 

" Of courseQrjflUiabfepfn you nice old 
person ! 'Nf#ie laughed, swiftly changing her 

2 4 



But if youll appear shortly, I'll 

promise — - 

" But you're going out*" 

'* I don't have to leave till late ; and I'm 
practically dressed now/* she lied, sweetly. 
u How long will it take you, Andy, dear? " 

" Fifteen minutes/' he capitulated. 

You would have been amazed to see what 
Corinna accomplished during those fifteen 
minutes. Cold water, powder puff, and of 
the tell-GrfegrRcilspflotiirtKs not a hint ; magica' 
^.W^ERSfT^^F^H^N cloud of hair; 



slippers, stockings, and, finally, a triumphant, 
transforming climax — a filmy counterfeit of 
m<x nlight and mist — the evening gown that 
Andy loved most. 

Sue was waiting to greet him — eyes like 
moonshot pools in a dark forest, flushed, 
lortly, smiling, adorable. 

She looked up at him mutely, entreatingly ; 
and he, without a word, took her in his arms 
and held her close. 
44 Oh, Corinna," he whispered, presently. 
She gently turned her head so as to reveal 
one eye. " What, Andy ? " 

" Nothing," he replied, unsteadily. " I'm 
afraid to say anything." 

44 Please, Andy," she begged, humbly, " just 
tell me that you love me." 
He did. 

After a time he said : — 
" It was sweet of you about the picture, 
dear, but I understand. You must let me 

find something else — and take it back " 

44 I won't let you have it ! " she declared, 
passionately. " It's mine — and I love it." 

Benson digested this change of attitude, 
then took courage to say : — 

44 I stopped at the florist's at the corner. 
But lis stock was awful. I didn't bring 
you any of his flowers — I was afraid you'd 
send them back." 

His smile was whimsically gay, but Corinna's 
was tremulous. 

44 You poor dear ! " she murmured, com- 
passionately. She looked up at him, misty- 
eyed and expectant. He bent and kissed 
her again. Under the caress her breatliing 
quickened, her eyes closed. She tightened 
her arms about his neck, as if she would 
never loose him. Then her lips met his, soft, 
almost liquid in their abandonment ; and 
in that kiss, in her little sigh of content, all 
inquietude, all discord, all foreboding — 
almost — was blotted from Benson's mind. 
" You've forgiven me ? " he whispered. 
She nodded happily. " And you've for- 
given me 1 Oh, Andy, how can you care for 
such an awful creature ? " 

Her humility was adorable — all the more 
precious because his subconsciousness realized 
it was evanescent. 
Corinna, relaxed in his arms, was thinking. 
"That eager, wistful look in his eyes will 
never change. I treat him abominably, and 
he lets me forgive him. What a shame for 
me to take such an advantage of him — to 
have made him suffer just because his busi- 

Voi liiL-nr. 

by Google 

ness — and I know it's important — took him 
away from me. But I must do that. I must 
have him for my own — nothing else ever to 
come first. That is because 1 love him so 

She did not know that she was analysing 
the chief malady of every woman's love, 
whether it be little or great. 

Presently she glanced at the clock and 
quickly disengaged herself. 

" I must run and put on my things ! " she 
exclaimed. " We shall be frightfully late for 

44 We? " he echoed, in astonishment. 

" Yes, you poor boy. Don't you know 
it's my birthday? And I've put on your 
favourite dress so you can take me out for 
the evening. A lovely, long, leisurely dinner ; 
won't it be lovely ? " 

44 Oh, Corinna, what am I ever going to 
do with you ? " he asked, ruefully. 

But Corinna, as though unhealing, was 
saying : — 

44 And you can tell me all about this 
tremendous business. I always mean to be 
interested in your business, Andy, and to 
understand its demands on you, and never 
to stand in the way." 

For a second she lingered in the doorway, 
graceful, compliant, triumphant, smiling confi- 
dently at him as if to say, l4 You know that, 
don't you ? " 

And Benson smiled back, a loving, re- 
assuring smile which, lying, said, " Of course, 
I know that." 

Then Corinna darted away. While Benson 
sat waiting a curious jumble of sensations, of 
thoughts, unbottled themselves within him. 

He was happy because she had forgiven 
him. She was in the wrong, he knew, yet 
she had done the forgiving — and he was 
happy so. She refused to understand a 
man's responsibilities, was utterly unreason- 
able, was guided primarily by her emotions 
— more woman stuff. But her faults, some- 
how, made her only the dearer. And it was 
her love for him that brought her faults into 
display — because she loved him so much ! 
Always, his common sense told him, she 
would be like this : so sweetly foolish, so 
unreasonably bitter, so inconsistently, ador- 
ably repentant. And always he would forgive 
her, because he loved her and because he 
understood her ; because he understood her 
so v/ell that he realized he never would under- 
stand her at all. 

Original from 





Sporting Efforts. 

By W. C. P. FORD. 

OURAGE is an inestimable 
quality. And it is of various 
kinds- But it does not neces- 
sarily imply that high moral 
quality vulgarly known as 
B] " pluck." It is a proved fact 3 
for instance, that the courage 
which carried men through Alma, Inkermann, 
Rorke's Drift , and theSomme would not induce 
them to stand up to fast bowling at Lord's 
for half an hour. The first is a matter of 
duty ? and is prompted by a totally different 
feeling from what one would call courage ; 
the other is a matter of pleasure, and, if 
accompanied by the requisite skill, requires 
no courage at all upon good ground. It 
hardly requires courage to play cricket. 
Pluck, however , is eminently essential. 

Physical pluck is nothing in itself — simply 
an instinct born in some men with other 
hereditary vices and virtues, while the power 
to respond worthily to a tremendous and 
unexpected call upon our energies is bred 
in ourselves* No one can help us, or claim 
the smallest share in the honours we then 
obtain, and yet — the history of existence 
is one long record of supreme heroic deeds 
in mimic as well as in serious fray. 

That pluck is altogether independent of 
youth, health j strength , or any other physical 
advantage was instanced in the case of Lord 
Cardigan, the last of the Brudenells, who 
led the death-ride at Balaclava. The foun- 
dation of his whole character was valour. 
He loved it, he prized it in others, and was 
conscious and proud of it himself- So 
jealous was he of this chivalrous quality in 
the hunting-field that he seemed to attach 
some vague sense of disgrace to the avoid- 
ance of a leap, however dangerous, and was 
notorious for the recklessness with which 
he would plunge into the deepest rivers, 
though he could not swim a stroke. One of 
his last heroic feats was to jump Langar 

into the Uppingham Road over the highest 
gate in Leicestershire at the age of seventy I 

Oftener than not pluck has been associated 
with the great physical phenomenon : the 
man with the loins of a bullock and the arms 
of a blacksmith. Yet the " Tipton Slasher T * 
had legs like a K, ; W. G. George of +t the 
mighty stride " was a phenomenon in its 
ironical sense ■ Heenan, who was more of 
a model in this sense than either Tom Savers 
or Tom King, did not beat Sayers, while 
King beat Heenan " all to smithereens *"— as 
BelVs Life of that period tells us. 

A few years before, Tom Johnson was at 
the head of pugilistic affairs, the acknowl- 
edged champion- He was matched against 
Isaac Perrin for two hundred guineas a side, 
and rarely has such physical disparity been 
shown in the ring. Johnson was a little 
man, while Perrin — -three stone heavier — 
stood six feet two inches in his stockings. 
So strong was he that it is said he had lifted 
eight hundredweight of iron into a wagon. 
After fighting sixty-one severe rounds, John- 
son gathered himself together, made a supreme 
effort, and — smash ! — settled the so-called 
phenomenon with a terrible blow right in 
the middle of his face, 

Tom Cannon, when pitted against Jem 
Ward, also succumbed to a supreme effort 
in 1825. After nine rounds of unparalleled 
furious fighting, both men stood for some 
seconds too exhausted to move. Ward 
tried to use his left hand, but fell down, 
and (annon fell on the top of him. When 
time was called Cannon was still distressed, 
and, seeing his chance, Ward pulled himself 
together by a superb effort, got in one or 
two blows, and all was over* Half an hour 
elapsed before Cannon recovered. 

Indisputably, however, youth has been 
responsible for many acts of supreme pluck. 
The milita,Tffjjftaflfpg}^nial career of the late 

^jr^^TOFVKffl*.N known to need 



recapitulation, yet the way he carried off the 
coveted " Whip " at the Cambridge Univer- 
sity Steeplechases is well worth emphasis. 
It so happened that the climax of his Univer- 
sity career, i.e., the putting on of his Bachelor's 
gown, clashed with the other (to him) impor- 
tant event. " Mr. Roily " was never one 
to shirk any of the very heterogeneous duties 
that fell to his lot throughout his life, so he 
decided to somehow satisfy both the Univer- 
sity authorities and his own ambitions. 
Kneeling discreetly before the Vice-Chancellor 
with his spurs clinking in his pocket and his 
gown hitched over his gaiters, he received 
the solemn incantation that awaited him, 
hurried from the Senate House, leapt on to 
the nag already saddled for the purpose, 
and rode helter-skelter to Cottenham, seven 
miles away. Only by this supreme effort 
was he able to weigh-in, face the starter, 
and, happily, win the race. It is said that 
Lord Minto always considered this one of 
his best feats. 

Mr. A. L. Corbett, the distinguished Oxford 
University and Corinthian footballer, who 
figured in the 1900-03 Inter-'Varsity matches, 
broke his wrist just before half-time in the 
first of these games, and emulated the feat 
of the Cyrenaean athlete of old, who swallowed 
his own teeth rather than let his adversary 
know the effect of the blow he had dealt 
him. By a supreme effort he kept the injury 
to himself for a time, refused to retire when 
it became known, and proceeded to do some 
most convincing work right to the end. 
Another old Oxford athletic Blue, Mr. 
C. P. Robertson-Glasgow, exhibited a suc- 
cession of plucky feats almost incredible 
between the years 1890-93. It seems his 
heart was affected somewhat, and it was 
nothing unusual to see him collapse during 
a race, get up after a few seconds, and run 
on again — oft-times to victory. He finished 
second to his president, Mr. B. C. Allen, in 
the Inter-'Varsity mile of 1891, after a great 
display of sheer pluck. The double victory of 
Mr. J. H. Morrell (Eton and Oxford) at the 
1905 Inter- 'Varsity Sports is doubtless within 
the recollection of most. Two days before 
he was generally considered a second-string 
athlete only, yet, rising to the occasion 
in truly great style, he actually finished first 
in both the " Hundred " and the " Quarter." 
His final effort in the longer distance will 
long be remembered by those who witnessed 
it. Such a feat, by the way, is without 
precedent at the Queen's Club. 

Under our category must also be placed 
the remarkable big-game feat of Mr. James 

Walker, the eldest son of Dr. Alexander 
Walker, of Edinburgh, and Deputy-Commis- 
sioner of Allahabad. A tiger had been heard 
of at Piplod which had mauled two men and 
was giving trouble. A beat was arranged, 
but, before the beaters got to work, out 
stalked a large male tiger, at which Mr. 
Walker sent two '303 Dum-Dum bullets. 
A tigress then rushed out on the other side 
of the nullah, and was immediately followed 
by a third tiger, both receiving bullets. All 
three animals disappeared, and were sub- 
sequently found dead. Exchanging his "303 
rifle for a '"577, Mr. Walker went nearer to 
examine them, and there, ready to spring, 
lay a fourth tiger. The beaters scattered 
rapidly, but, raising his rifle in the coolest 
and pluckiest manner possible, Mr. Walker 
took steady aim and killed him also. The 
excitement over such a feat baffled descrip- 
tion. Only the Deputy-Commissioner re- 
mained calm and unperturbed. 

Equal pluck and sang-froid were shown on 
a memorable occasion by the late Canon 
McCormick, the distinguished " quintuple " 
Cambridge Blue. Nat Langham, the only 
man who ever beat the mighty Tom Sayers, 
publicly challenged any undergraduate to 
a contest with the gloves. This caused 
quite a pompholugopaphlastna, as Aristophanes 
magnificently expresses it in another connec- 
tion, but " Joe," as he was called by his 
familiars, promptly accepted the challenge 
for the honour of the University. In the 
result Langham was severely trounced, to 
the delight and wonderment of all Cambridge 
men present. The St. John's College man 
himself was as cool as the proverbial cucumber. 

As readers of The Strand Magazine are 
doubtless aware, the late Lieutenant A. E. J. 
Collins, of the Royal Engineers, who has been 
killed during the present war, made the record 
individual score in any cricket match, at 
Clifton, in his early 'teens. Playing for Clarke's 
House v. North Town in June, 1899, he com- 
piled the gigantic score of six hundred and 
twenty-eight (not out). It is true the effort 
was not continuous — the match was played 
at odd hours day by day, extending over five 
afternoons — but the stamina and pluck 
required for such a feat must have been a 
severe test. It is pleasing to say he finished 
his six hours fifty minutes' task almost as 
fresh as when he started it. 

Perhaps the most remarkable exhibition of 
supreme pluck on record was that given by 
Mr. W. H. Grenfcll, of Taplow Court— now 
Lord Desborough — in twice swimming the 
Niagara Pool, from the American to the 



Canadian side, going in as close up to the Falls 
as was possible j and landing on the Canadian 
side just above the Suspension Bridge. He 
first accomplished the feat in 1884, when 
there was some conflict of opinion among 
those there as to whether it was possible or 
not- The danger 
isgetting into the 
u nder -current f 
which runs very 
strongly and 
would take you 
down to the 
Rapids*, It 
seems the men 
in charge of the 
tramway d o w n 
to the Falls were 
very anxious to 
put off the per- 
formancejSo that 
special trains 
could be run for 
people to see it. 
But Mr, Grenfdl 
told them that 
he was in a hurry 
and could not 
wait for that, 
and, as far as he 
remembers, there 
were few eye- 
witnesses on the 

The next time 
he did it was in 
1 888, chiefly to 
convince Mr. 
John G, Mil- 
burnt, a well -known lawyer at 
that time in Buffalo, whose two 
sons were afterwards educated at 
Oxford and gained distinction 
at rowing, polo, and swimming, 
Both rowed in the Oxford flight of 
1902, and Dcvereux. subsequently 
the distinguished American Inter- 
national poloistj also figured in 
the swimming and polo tuiims v, 
Cambridge, It was an uncomfort- 
able day for swimming, as there 
was half a gale of wind and hail ; 
and people on the spot refused 
any assistance, and declined to 
have anything to do with it. As 

• It wns, in at templing to swim through the 
Rapid 5 Thai Captain Webli vm* drowned. 

f It w-j.% in Mr, MilWrT- 
Prcskkm McKLnley died— shot l>y a fanatic. 

The late A, E- 



SCORE — 628 NOT 

OUT, by Sli'lir inter 

the consequence Mr, Grenfell jumped in at 
the wrong place^ and suddenly found himself 
being carried towards the Falls by a back 
eddy. Straining every nerve, however, he 
struck out for the middle, and once more 
got across successfully. 

Exhibitions of what may be called collec- 
tive pluck have been fairly numerous In 
1885 Lord Desborough successfully stroked 
a crew composed of Oxford men across the 
Channel in a clinker-built boat with sliding; 
seats. It was an exciting passage, requiring 
unlimited pluck, as several times the boat 
filled, and serious trouble might have ensued 
but for the jampots, with one of which each 
of the crew was armed, which enabled them 
to bail out the water. 

In 1897 a crew of Old Etonians attempted 
the same feat in a four- oared in- rigged coast 
galley ; far better adapted for such a purpose, 
by the way , than the eight-oared boat used 
by the 1885 Oxford crew. It was a disastrous 
attempt ; however, as continual sea- sickness 
disabled most of the men, while at the end 
of an hour's rowing the boat had filled and 
the crew were in the water. Although some 
of them could not swim, it was characteristic 
of the crew that they went down gaily singing 
the Eton boating song. Mr, Snapge ? the 
coxswain, would inevitably have been drowned 
but for the rare courage and presence of mind 

exh ibited by 
Mr, €♦ K- 
Philips, the dis- 
tinguished Old 
Oxonian and 
I zander oars- 
man , who was 
one of the crew. 
In the pluckiest 
manner pos- 
sible he suc- 
ceeded in 
rescuing h i s 
friend from an 
unhappy fate, 

The' Cam- 
bridge Eight of 
1859. and both 
the University 
crews of 191^ 
will ever be re- 
membered f" r 
having errm- 
lated the 
fabulous feat of 
the Vtng*# T 
by rowing 





till the water 



reached their waists before their boats sank. 
The former melancholy shipwreck was prob- 
ably attributable to the Can tabs refusing to 
use one of Searle's boats which, in old Jack 
Phelps's phraseology, " sat the water like a 
duck/* Be that as it may ; the supreme pluck 
exhibited by the whole crew — two of whom 
could not swim — was beyond all praise. It 
was not a day for boat- racing on April ist, 
1912, and the double catastrophe was only 

every muscle acting instinctively in complete 
co-operation with the ruling brain — all were 
demanded of him. Right through the night 
he raced away at top speed — greater than 
that of the Scotch express — his hands never 
leaving the steering-wheel, his intellect always 
collected, calm, and cooL It was a supreme 

Almost as remarkable was the bicycle 
performance of Mr, A. E* Wills , on the Munich 

m V** 




Photo. bv\ THE CAMBRIDGE CHEW. [iHtulraJttmi Ihue-ut. 

in accordance with general expectation. Here 
a^ain ? however, pluck in excels is was shown 
by Light and Dark Blues alike. 
m The Boat Race of 1891 afforded another 
remarkable instance of dogged, supreme pluck 
on the part of the sixteen oarsmen engaged. 
Sensational finishes have not been infrequent 
in this " Battle of the Blues/' but rarely— 
not even excepting the famous dead- heat of 
1877 — has excitement been so rife as on this 
occasion. From Barnes Bridge it was any- 
body's race. Every inch of the way to the 
winning-post was hotly disputed, and only by 
a superhuman effort did Oxford manage to 
win by a bare half-length , after the crews had 
been dead level a few strokes from home. Mr. 
C. W, Kent's fame as a stroke is world-wide, 
but the old B.N.C. man never excelled his 
effort on this occasion. 

As an individual exhibition of pluck, Mr, 
S. F, Edge's world-renowned and marvellous 
record-breaking motor performance at Brook- 
lands in 1907 will ever remain an outstanding 
feature. The feat was one to intimidate any 
but those endowed with iron nerves. Pro- 
met h can en durance ; unceasing watchfulness. 

track, on August 17th, 1908. He pedalled 
a machine geared to one hundred and sixty- 
three and one-third inches behind a huge 
thirty-two horse-power motor-cycle, steered 
by Berlin, the famous pacer, and covered 
sixty-one miles nine hundred and seventy- 
three yards in sixty-six minutes. One can 
only imagine the nerve-strain implied by 
thus riding mile after mile at express speed 
in circumstances where the least swerve or 
miscalculation, or the bursting of a tyre, 
might easily prove fatal. It required almost 
superhuman pluck. 

That desperation is often an inspirer of 
pluck has also been demonstrated on various 
occasions and in different ways. The Inter- 
' Varsity Sports of 1891 and 1898 afforded 
typical instances* In the former year Mr. 
C. J. B. Monypenny, the famous Cambridge 
Blue and record-holder, had carried all before 
him at Fenner's, and was a red-hot favourite 
for the " Hundred " and u Quarter '* at Queen ** 
Club, After tieing with Mr, A, Ramsbotham 
(Oxford) in the sprint, he ran so finely in 
the four hundred md forty yards event that 
all see^-^^^^j Down the 



straight, however, Mr. P* R, Lloyd, his 
Oxford rival, made a supreme effort, caught 
his man literally on the tape, and won a 
sensational victory by six inches ! 

In 1898 Mr. A- Hunter, President of the 
CJU*A.€, f had also proved himself by far the 
best milcr in residence. He faced the starter 
at Queen's Club an equally hot favourite, and 
even half-way down the straight in the last 
lap looked all over a winner. Then Mr, 
A, L. Danson, the Oxford first string, made a 
desperate effort, gained appreciably at every 
stride, and ultimately won by a few inches 
amidst a scene of enthusiasm rarely witnessed 
at the West Kensington venue. How close 
the finish was will be seen from the accom- 
panying photograph. 

Mi\ R, E- Atkinson (Cambridge) brought off 

twelve and three-fifth seconds). The Rhodes 
scholar was considered a certainty for this 
event, but utterly failed to cope with the 
(antab's supreme effort in the straight, and 
was beaten handsomely. The winner, by 
the way, has since been killed in action in 

While riding in the Epsom Spring Meeting 
of 1 866, Harry Custance, the famous jockey, 
had the misfortune to break his collar-bone, 
owing to his mount falling at Tattenham 
Corner. It was a great misfortune to owner 
and jockey alike, because he was engaged to 
ride Lord Lyon in the Derby* A week before 
the big race Colonel Forrester went down to 
see his horse at exercise, and, observing 
Custance with his arm in a sling, remarked 
to him, ' + Tm afraid you'll not be able to 



PApto M MR. A, L. D ANSON, OF OXFORD, Wiltman A Cfc, Oxford. 

another sensational win in the Inter-* Varsity 
14 Half " of 1914 by beating the ^reat American 
athlete, Mr. N. S. Taher (Oxford), now holder 
of the world's mile record (four minutes 

ride, as I see you cannot get your elbow level 
with your shoulder," As the sequel, Custance 

nO MM?'yr^-?T^^r L .°!W.lty 0T li b ut won on h * m 
aftldWlA'Bfe^if^^^flhin^ finish with 



Savernake, and an exhibition of real dogged 
pluck characteristic of the man. 

The late Mrs, Jenyns {nee Thompson), a 
daughter of the celebrated Mr. Henry Thorny 
soHj was once urged on to a desperate feat 
by the Duchess of Rox- 
burghe, one of the guests 
at Kirby Hall, Mrs. 
Jenyns and others were 
just setting out to a meet, 
and the rest of the house- 
party came downstairs to 
see them depart. Un- 
thinkingly the Duchess — 
whose knowledge of 
horsemanship was infini- 
tesimal — exclaimed , "Oh, 
Miss Thompson , do show 
us what you can do ! " 
It was a startling request, 
as there was no fence of 
any sort to be seen, 
except an iron railing 
separating the large circu- 
lar gravel drive from the 
park. Nothing dismayed, 
the girl settled herself in 
the saddle, looked round, 
started her thoroughbred 
horse into a hand canter, 
and in the pluckiest 
manner possible jumped 
the iron railing. 

Paradoxical as it may 
appear, fear has also been 
known to act as an in- 
centive to supreme pluck. 
There is much truth in 
the saying that it is often 
the man who is admit- 
tedly afraid at crises who 
rises to heights of sub- 
limity in this respect. A 
typical instance was that 
of a North Staffordshire 
hunting man who, having 
halted at a railway levet- crossing to let an 
express train run through, saw to his dismay 
a young lady lying prone on the very rails 
over which it had to pass. He afterwards 
confessed that for a moment or two he was 
horribly afraid. " I had half a mind to bolt/' 
he remarked, " but then — well, something 
compelled me to hurry to the rescue/' This 
he did, and succeeded in extricating the lady 
horn her perilous position just as the express 
dashed by. Her horse, from which she had 
been thrown, was found dead higher up the 


win in the inter- Varsity " half " 



Photff ftjF Sport ami Gmtnrf. 7 

An Englishman, not famous for his horse- 
manship, was once the guest of a well-known 
Irish family in County Waterford during the 
hunting season. He was chaffed unmerci- 
ful!)' about his equestrian defects, but nothing 
could move him to follow 
the chase until he became 
enamoured with the 
second daughter of the 
house, who was a perfect 
Diana. She was often 
heard to say that no man 
should marry her who did 
not hunt, and so, fearful 
of losing her, he deter* 
mined to 

D.iie on a gallant horse 
What he never would dare 

Provided by his host. with 
a splendid mare, he at- 
tended the very next 
meet, and— to the aston- 
ishment of the whole 
field — was well up at the 
finish of a notable run 
in the Strad bally district* 
His successful negotiation 
of a difficult jump, more- 
over, established his fame 
as a " great lepper " for all 
time. He afterwards ac- 
knowledged that nothing 
but the fear of losing his 
future wife would have 
given him the pluck to 
essay such doughty 

So many supreme acts 
of valour have already 
been accomplished by our 
soldiers and sailors in the 
present Armageddon as 
to fully justify Lord 
Robert s ' s dictu m that 
" games and sports and 
athletics are a magnificent preparation for 
war." It is certainly emphasized by many 
of the above-mentioned feats, and there are 
others equally convincing as to the effect of 
such training in developing pluck. 

It w^ould be ungracious to omit mention 
of the astounding prowess of Mr, George 
Osbaldeston, universally dubbed " The Squire 
of England, " in almost every branch of sport. 
Some of his feats almost verged on the 
miraculous. He *vas tfie Admirable Crichton 
of his dftViift^^.-Sf^er^iflijiqi^ prototype of 
yb'otobghf'aKii^the hero in 

our ow3 




many sensational displays of supreme pluck. 
Travelling was no joke in those days, and one 
feat he accomplished when Master of the 
Pytchley shows what hardihood and resolu- 
tion he possessed shortly after his Eton and 
Oxford career. He had had three good runs, 
and, wishing to go to a ball at Cambridge, he 
first rode to Northampton, then hacked it to 
Cambridge, danced all night, rode back to 
Sulby Hall — a distance of sixty miles — hunted 
the same day, killing a brace of foxes, and then 
rode home to dinner. He had never even 
closed his eyes for two days and a night ! 

As a steeplechase-rider he had an unbeaten 
record, while his skill at shooting of all kinds 
was deadly. Backed on one occasion to kill 
eighty brace of partridges in a day, he actually 
succeeded in killing ninety-seven and a half 
brace, and there were five and a half brace 
picked up next day, so that in reality he killed 
one hundred and three brace of partridges, 
Yiine hares, and a rabbit in the day — a feat 
then unequalled in the annals of sporting. 

The late Sir Andrew Leith Hay once 

demonstrated the truth of the contention 


Mere pluck, though not in the least sublime, 
Is better than blank dismay. 

He was a member of a large party assembled 
at Black Hall, in Kincardineshire, and " over 
the walnuts and wine " on a certain evening 
made a bet of two thousand five hundred 
pounds a side with Lord Kennedy to walk 
thence to Inverness, the one who arrived 
there first to be the winner. They started 
the terrible journey there and then, in even- 
ing costume, and. as was then the custom, 
thin shoes and silk stockings on their feet. 
After going seven or eight miles other foot- 
wear was provided by their valets, but the 
sole of one of Sir Andrew's shooting-boots 
vanished twenty-five miles from Inverness, 
and he had to finish the walk — which he won 
— barefooted. It is doubtful if any sporting 
feat on record surpasses this wading all day 
in a bog, and then walking two nights and a 
day, under pouring rain, over the Grampian 
range of mountains. \ It was madly foolish, 
maybe, but undeniably plucky. 

Professor Saunderson, of Cambridge, a 

profound mathematician, though quite blind, 
was so fascinated with the chase that he 
continued to hunt till an advanced period of 
his life. His horse was accustomed to follow 
that of his servant, and his deliglft was 
extreme when he heard the cry of the hounds 
and the huntsmen, expressing his raptures 
with all the eagerness of those who possessed 
their sight. What real interest blind men 
can possibly experience in madly scampering 
over hedges and ditches in such fasliion it is 
difficult to divine. Both in Professor Saunder- 
son's case and in that of the Marquess cf 
Cranby's friend, who, though quite blind, 
was equally expert, although he had no atten- 
dant, but trusted to chance, however, supreme 
pluck was emphatically implied. 

So it was in the case of a certain lady, a 
member of a well-known Yorkshire family, 
who, in 1804, undertook an equestrian race 
against such a notable horseman as Mr. 
Flint, for five hundred guineas . a side, at 
Knavesmire. She won the . first heat, and 
would have achievcxl the second had not her 
saddle-girth slipped. As she came in she 
was cheered by the immense assembled crowd 
with — 

Push on, dear lady — pray don't the whip stint ; 

To beat such as you must have the heart of a F* int. 

Another typical instance of supreme pluck, 
begat of foolhardiness, was afforded by Mr. 
Alexander Croome — " Mon " Croome, as he 
was called by his familiars — of Trinity 
College, Oxford. For reasons best known to 
himself, he had neglected to enter the college 
gates before closing time, and pluckily, if 
somewhat foolishly, essayed to enter without 
the knowledge of the authorities by scaling 
the gate, which was surmounted by formidable 
spikes. These served less as an effectual 
barrier than a cruel trap, and Mr. Croome 
might have lost his life upon them. As it 
was, he sank down on them to such an extent 
that they pierced his leg to the shin-bone. 
Fine athlete as he was, accustomed to the 
feat of drawing up his weight by the strength 
of his arms, it took all his skill and power to 
raise himself off those adhesive spikes. The 
bathos of it was, there was no great tempta- 
tion to enter otherwise than by the lodge J 

by Google 

Original from 

Wnen Peace Comes Along, 
















Original from 







Illustrated Dy Treyer Evars, 

WO men fated each other 
across a table in a New York 
office. One was young and 
very handsome. The other 
was middle-aged and very 

The name of the young and 
handsome man was Jim Hotchkiss, His 
iace was pinned to the wall over every mirror 
in every young woman's bedroom in the 
United States and Canada. Yes, he was an 

The name of the middle-aged and rich man 
was Robert S. Jordan. He was not an actor, 
but he took just as many risks, He was an 
insurance- broker. 

'* W«U, now, Mr. Hotchkiss/' he was 
saying, " here is the situation in a nutshell. 
Your manager, Mr. Trumbull, is under the 
impression that the best half of your attrac- 
tion is the fact of your being known to be 
a bachelor. I put it bluntly, Ml Hotch- 

Dr.imntic lights reserved. 

kiss, because time is money, and we neither of 
us want to be extravagant at the moment-" 

Mr. Hotchkiss smiled/ A million young 
women would have died to have that smile 
directed at them across a six-foot table, 
Robert S. Jordan never even blinked. 

" That being so, ,J continued the broker, 
[i Mr. Trumbull has asked me to insure you 
for twelve months against your getting 
married. The sum named is a large one — 
fifty thousand dollars. ,J 

Again Mr, Hotchkiss smiled. He was an 
easy srniler. He smiled when he was pleased, 
and he smiled when he was bored. In both 
cases the smile was the same. That was 
another reason for his popularity. 

11 The proposition is an unusual one, Mr. 
Hotchkiss, but I am wilting to take on the 
deal providing that you will kindly answer 
one or two very simple questions and put 
your name to the answers. Here is the first. 
Are you engaged, Mr. Hotchkiss ? " 

Jim HbraMEfes-bn-iiltd an em phallic negative* 

Copyright In U.S.A. 



" Are you in love ? '* 

" No, sir, I am not." 

" Are you contemplating matrimony ? " 

" I am not." 

" Thank you. That is quite satisfactory. 
Would you oblige me by putting your signa- 
ture to those replies ? I thank you, Mr. 
Hotchkiss. Good morning." 


Jim Hotchkiss closed the door of the broker ,s 
office and pressed the button for the lif* 
(in America called "elevator" for short). 
The lift came gliding to his bidding. It was 
an automatic lift. You simply pressed the 
button against the number of the floor 
required, and the lift did the rest. 

The actor closed the gate on himself, 
pressed the button marked " Ground," and 
the graceful descent commenced. The office 
was quiet that morning, and he had the lift 
to himself. As he sank past the third floor, 
however, Jim Hotchkiss received a sudden 
shock. No, there was nothing wrong with 
the machinery. It was not that sort of 

Glancing through the latticed steel gate 
as he descended, the eyes of Mr. Jim Hotch- 
kiss had met the eyes of a young woman 
standing on the third landing. Jim's eyes 
were not exactly novices ; from the conversa- 
tion in the office above, you will have gathered 
that they could act on the de- as well as on 
the of- fensive ; but the eyes of the girl on the 
landing had, perhaps, caught them unawares. 
Be that as it may, Jim Hotchkiss stopped the 
lift and put back. 

The girl, who was quite young and very 
pretty, seemed a little out of breath as she 
bowed her acknowledgments and stepped 
into the lift. Jim closed the lattice-gate on 
the outer world. 

44 Up or down ? " he inquired. 

" You were going down, were you not ? " 

" And you were waiting to go up, were 
you not ? " 

" I don't wish to take you out of your 

<r Not at all. Which floor ? " 

" Ground, please." 

" But you were going up ! " 

" And you were going down ! " 

"If you'll allow me, I'd rather go up again." 

" Oh, but why ? " 

" Well, for one thing, there are more floors 
above than below." 

" The very reason why we should go your 
way first and mine after." 

" Ycur way, madam, is my way." 

And Jim Hotchkiss pressed a button at 

The lift, a little surprised but smoothly 
obedient as ever, began to ascend. The 
pretty young woman, with a quick pout that 
betokened an indulgent mother and a family 
of one, dashed at ~the buttons and pressed 
" Ground." 

The lift gave a shudder and stopped dead. 
They were just below the fourth floor. Six 
inches of the steel lattice-gates, indeed, had 
a view of the fourth landing. The remainder 
of the lift was still in the shaft. 

44 Well," said the mcUinie idol, quietly, " I 
guess that's done the trick." 

44 What trick ? " 

" You've annoyed her. She's struck work." 

" Nonsense. Let me " 

" Take care ! I won't answer for the conse- 
quences if you monkey with those buttons 
again ! " 

44 But what has happened ? You don't 
mean to say the lift is out of order ? " 

44 That's just what I do mean to say. I 
know these automatic lifts. They're the 
most delicate things in the world. But 
don't be alarmed, madam. We have only 
to wait for the arrival of the engineer." 

44 I'm not in the least alarmed, thank you." 

And she sat down on the velvet seat. 

44 That's good." 

And Jim Hotchkiss took the other end of 
the seat. 


Within five minutes the accident was dis" 
covered, and the engineer came to parley with 
the prisoners through the six inches of steel 
lattice-gate that was visible from the fourth 
floor. Jim, at the risk of his life — or, any- 
how, of his beautiful fingers — clambered up 
the gate so that he might speak quietly and 
collectedly into the ear of the engineer. 

44 What's wrong ? " asked the engineer. 

Mr. Hotchkiss explained. His explanation 
seemed to the young lady highly technical. 
None the less, it was evident that the engineer 
understood. He nodded a great many times, 
peeped through the lattice-gates at the young 
lady, looked steadily at Mr. Hotchkiss, and 
pocketed a piece of paper that crackled. 

44 Say ! Be as quick as you can," concluded 
the actor. 

44 Sure," replied the engineer, and they 
heard him descending the stairs. 

Jim Hotchkiss returned to his corner of the 
seat. The beautiful young lady, still quite 
composed, was writing in her little memo.- 

boo!c-''ERSIT¥ OF MICrffGAN 



" Sending a line to mother ? " asked Mr. 

'" No. I never alarm her unnecessarily." 

" That's sweet and thoughtful I might 
have known it," 

" Are you as bad as they say vou are, Mr. 
Hotchkiss ? " 

Jim never winced. He was not very vain 
for an act or , but he expected to be recognized 
by pretty g^rfs of nineteen or thereabouts. 

i( How bad do they say I am ? " 

" They say you break hearts for the fun 
of it." 

" Anything else ? " 

" They say the reason why you never lost 
your heart is because you haven't one to lose," 

" Anything else ? " 

" They say you mean to go on acting till 
you begin to lose your looks and your figure, 
and then you'll sell yourself to the highest 

" Anything else? " 

" Isn't that enough ? ?I 

" Yes* Would you like to hear the truth 
about me? " 

" Maybe I have/' 

" No, you haven't. Nobody knows it but 
myself. I've never told a soul in this world. 
But I'd like to tell you, if you care to listen," 

li I don't see that I can help it," 

" Yes, you ran.'' 

11 Oh, well ? we've got to pass the time 

" Thanks," 

i! Oh + of course, I'd just love to hear the 
truth about you. But I needn't believe it 
unless I like." 

Vol liii-ia 

I That's so. I must chance that. It's 
quite true that I mean to sell myself to the 
highest bidder. I have to." 

£ Why ? Are you so poor ? ** 
f Yes. I've got nothing/ She's got every- 
" Oh, so vou've met her ? " 

II Yes/' 

" May one ask her name ? " 
1 I don't know it myself." 
4 But you've ascertained that .she's rich ? " 

The young lady's upper lip conveyed much 

k In comparison with me she's rich. The 
moment I met her she took all I had to give 
—my heart. But she still retains all that I 
want — her^love,'* 

The young lady considered. Then :■ — 

" Is it long since you met her? " 

' About fifteen minutes/' 

Again the young lady considered. Jim 
Hotchkiss made as though to take a cigar- 
ette from his case. He always did it on the 
stage for effect. He was the finest cigarette- 
actor in New itfri^nafffAiWhen he tried to 
do it in t^^^^^p^^t^muscles of 



his right arm^ wrist 3 
and hand failed him. 
Seeing this the 
young lady smiled. 

" What makes 
you so sure^ 1 she 
asked, s t e a d i 1 y, 
i£ that the bargain 
is one-sided ? " 

" Guess again," 
suggested Jim 

" Well, maybe she 
gave you what you 
say you want before 
you gave her all you 
had to give," 

Their eyes met 
for the second time 
that morning. 

The engineer, 
returning ten 
seconds later, went 
down two stairs and 


<( Sounds like our 
little Cupid with the 
break down gang , p * 
said Jim. "If you'll 
excuse me, darling, 
111 repeat the chim- 
panzee act/ 1 

He ascended the 
gates and whistled 
to the engineer, 

"What's wrong?" 
inquired the ladies' 

" I can't get 'er to 
budge/' replied the 
engineer. "Looks as 
if you'll have to stop 
there the night / J 

" That's all right. Just telephone my 
manager, and then fetch along a registrar," 

" Stop ! " said the young lady, from her 
far corner, " Before you do anything else 3 
engineer, please go up to the sixteenth floor 
and ask Mr. Robert S. Jordan to step down 

" Stop ! " cried the actor, u My darling, 
I hate to thwart the first wish you have 
expressed since our betrothal, but I don't 
particularly want that sordid old man 
mixing himself up in this idyll. He'd 
clash. He wouldn't go with the scene. I 
can't bear the thought of that face peering 

at us through ih«' 
delicate tracery of 
the gates/* 

"You know 
him ? " replied the 
young lady. 

" I met him this 
morning for the first 
time. On business, 
Something tells mt 
that his presence 
here at this juncture 
would prove an 
unhappy omen^ mv 

"That's quite 
possible. He's my 
father/ 1 

"Oh, is that so? 
How do you do, 
Miss Jordan ? May 
I have the other 
name for the 
registrar ? u 

41 You can call 
me Delia for short. 
But 1 wouldn't 
trouble the regis- 
trar before you've had a chat with dad 
through the grill, I'm only nineteen, you 
see, and there mayn't be any wedding 
after alL" 

14 Very good. Kindly fetch Mr, Robert 
S. Jordan from the sixteenth floor } Mr, 

The broker came down the stairs three 
at a time and flung his chest at the 
landing. He found himself glaring into 
the beautiful face of his beloved and :»nly 

" Myr^^^ff^^jaculated. " What are 



2 59 

** Kneeling on Mr. Jim Hotchkiss's back, 
father. We can't get out, and so, being 
quite devoted to one another, we want to 
ask your sanction to our marriage/' 

* c The child's mad ! " exclaimed the broker. 
" The terror has driven her out of her senses." 

ig Not at all, father. I'm perfectly com- 
posed, though poor Mr. Hotehkiss is getting 
a little wobbly. Do say ' Yes.' " 

4 * I'll say nothing of the sort. That young 
fellow has lied to me + He told rnc less than 
half an hour ago that he was not in love or 
likely to be in love. He's a liar and a 

44 Not at all, father." replied the damsel. 
" Half an hour ago we had never met." 

" Then how can you be devoted to one 
another ? Explain this flapdoodle." 

" Nothing easier, father, I am a constant 
playgoer. I have been desperately in love 
with Jim for six months. If you had ever 
seen him light a "cigarette and blow out the 
match you would understand. As for Jim, 
he met his fate — meaning me — a few seconds 
after leaving your office." 

i( That's all very well; but has he told you, 
my girl, that I have insured his manager 
against this fellow's marriage within twelve 
months for fifty thousand dollars ? " 

Delia, with a faint moan, slipped to the 
floor of the lift. She had been brought up in 
a business atmosphere, and realized that her 
love was now hopeless. The thought of being 
engaged for a year to Jim Hotehkiss, with a 

million clever girls after him, was not com- 
patible with .sanity. 

But Jim, dauntless if slightly rumpled, 
here took up the running. Leaping lightly 
up the gates — he was getting used to it — - 
he looked the broker very steadily in the 

" 4l Sir/' he said, " as the father of the 
beautiful creature I adore, I revere you. As 
a business man! I despise you. Would you 
let this miserable fifty thousand dollars 
stand in the wav of your daughter's happi- 
ness ? " 

" Yes," replied Robert S. Jordan, " Fifty 
thousand dollars are something certain. 
Married happiness is something uncertain." 

11 Listen ! " said the actor, who in this short 
space of time had thrown off the butterfly and 
become a serious combatant in life's battle, 
14 Trumbull was quite right to insure against 
my marrying. I know that. But Trumbull 
was calculating on an ordinary, humdrum sort 
of a wedding in a swell church with flowers 
and confetti and all the old tricks. He never 
guessed I might get married in a lift. It's the 
first time it's been done, and New York'll 
go crazy over it, Instead of losing my 
following, I'll double my salary. If you don't 
believe me, ring up the Times and ask 'em 
what they'll give for it as an exclusive. Man 
alive, where's your imagination ? " 

11 Boy," said the broker, " do you really 
and honestly love my little girl ? " 

4i I do, sir , as true as I hang here," 

14 Delia, do you really and honestly love 
this young man ? " 

" Gh, dad ? I'm president of the Jim Hotch- 
kiss Club/' 

4t Then let the ceremony go forward." 

And it went forward. And when all was 
over, and the sweet young people were 
beaming happily at the old father and mother 
through the grill, the broker said :— 

44 Jim, boy, I'd hate to deceive you on your 
wedding-day, I hadn't sent that policy to 

And the actor replied : — 

hi Dad, I should equally hate to deceive 
you. The lift is not stuck ! " 

To prove which he touched the "Four'* 
button, and up she came like a bird. 

by Google 

Original from 


to M 


WAS just 

having tea 

in the draw* 

ing- room 

and study- 

ing Mr. 

Bat e man's 
1 ; Queer Couples/' when 
Maria swashed in. The 
honoured reader has the 
privilege of examining the 
Matrimonial Problems for 
himself as they adorn these 
pages; J f aria. I'm afraid, 
1 shall have to explain. 

Anyone who has ever seen Maria would 
expect her to swish in, especially in that 
kind of a coat, loose and full, with fur all 
round* She was overpoweringly smart, what 
with a Russian cap, French heels, and a 
kind of fur she assured me was sable, although, 
unless my eyes deceived me, I felt positive it 
was British pussy in disguise ; the kind that 
in happier times wailed on the back fences t of 
the long-suffenng householder* I admit, how- 
ever, that it cannot but gratify our national 
pride that the new spirit of enterprise is 
such that we now grow our own Russian 
sabte and Imperial ermine in our backyards. 
Still, whether sable or pussy, Maria was 
indescribably chic. 

The female reader, though conceivably 
uncertain as to everything else, may be 


trusted to know by instinct when sales are 
on — a blameless British variety of the Roman 
Saturnalia when the eager female sallies 
forth and buys at fever- heat what she doesn't 

Maria simply adores sales. She pursues 
them all over town, and when she comes back, 
pea- green from exhaustion, she still exhales 
the aroma of bargains, I can calculate the 
cost of everything she wears to a Earthing, 
for I know the duplicity nf the trade and the 
confiding nature of the British female shopper 
unable to resist getting what she doesn't 
want when three-ha'pence cheaper. Maria 

She swished in triumphantly, for her coat 
was built qu those lines* She also had on 

her jffitftfjgfrff fflfflBBIfi manners - the 



ones she always wears with her best clothes. 
Some women are like that. Good clothes 
gives them a moral support which the best 
conscience in the world couldn't. 

I gazed critically at her coat, and all I 
said wasj " Three pounds nineteen and six; 
but very smart at that." She was awfully 

il I beg your pardon/ 3 and she looked at 
me down her nose, " This coat was marked 
down from ten guineas. You know perfectly 
well that I wouldn't dream of wearing any- 
thing so cheap as three pounds nineteen 
and six," 3 Maria ! " The assistant showed 
me the ticket, and I 
saw with my own eyes 
that the ten guineas 
was scratched out with 
red ink. So there ! " 

I may say here that 
at sales-time nothing 
so convinces her that 
she's got a bargain as 
red ink, 

I looked at her 
compassionately, and 
felt that compared to 
her a bleating lamb 
has the guile of a 
German diplomatist, 

'* Anyhow, you do 
look smart," I assured 
her, "and everybody 
will believe it's sable. 
Where' ve you been ? " 

At first Maria was 
inclined to be stiff ; 
but it's dreadfully 
hard to be stiff when 
you want to talk, 

44 I've been to a 
wedding— a war-wed- 
ding," and she thawed 
like January, " I 
bought this on my way 
to the wedding, and 
kept it on, for I think 
it awfully smart. Do 
give me some tea ; 
I'm dying for it ! " 
And, indeed, war- 
weddings these days are hungry functions. 

(t Whose wedding ? " I asked, and minis- 
tered to her with tea and war-cake. 

t( I don't know," and her voice was muffled 
behind her teacup, " It was a frightfully 
smart wedding, but there were so many war- 
weddings going that I got into the wrong 
church, and never knew till I heard the 


names, and then I found they were the 
wrong names. But it doesn't matter, for 
khaki bridegrooms all look alike behind, 
don't they? And brides do, anyhow, It 
was most awfully well done, and when the 
bride came down from the altar— no, not 
young nor specially pretty, but she had a 
kind of satisfied smile on her face — you know 
the kind — as if she held a hundred aces and 
had made the grand slam, And just then, 
w r hen the + Wedding March ' struck up and 
I felt quite thrilled, I heard the loveliest 
silver-fox behind me whisper to an ermine 
cape, ' Why ever did he marry her ? ■ and 

they were already 
half - way down the 
aisle, when the ermine 
whispered, * He didn't 
want to, but she 
made him J ; and then 
they passed, and the 
silver - fox and the 
ermine smiled and 
bowed to the bride, 
and I saw at once 
they were all dear 
friends. So, what with 
the ( Wedding March * 
and the rest of it, I 
felt I'd known 'em 
for ever " ; and Maria 
cut deep into my 
war- cake. 

"Still, one does 
w o nder somet imes , p p 
and she licked her 
right forefinger in a 
thoughtful way, 
" what on earth do 
some people see in 
each other/' 

" That " — and I 
indicated the Matri- 
monial Problems' — "is 
the very thing Mr, 
Bateman's wondering 
about. 91 

" You don't say so ! 
Isn't that a coinci- 
dence ? " and Maria 
was obviously 
gratified, and she chewed war -cake and 
studied the six with an indulgent eye, 

I must say I was rather surprised, for she's 
awfully prejudiced against Art, because, 
according to her, Art's always connected with 
dust. Unless you keep Art dusted, it makes 
even the sweetest satin furniture— the puffv 

ktad i*fe'fSffl(ftl3!B*- A "° ther 

2t 2 


objection to Art besides dost is that it's 
mostly like nothing one ever sees- So it was 
in the light of a revelation to her, she said, 
to find an Art so true to Nature that you 
can meet it any day at afternoon teas — when 
there are any afternoon teas — or in a bus, or 
the A.B.C.'s, or at Whiteley's, 

11 If I've got to have Art," and Maria spoke 
with resignation, " give me Art like that/ 1 
and she rested the six against the teapot , 
the milk -jug, and other outlying supports, 
and again strengthened herself with more 
cake than I thought justified in our present 
economical crisis. 

So for the first time— although Samuel's 
been twice done in oils, the first being a bad 
debt for groceries— Maria was converted to 
Art, though she admitted there was one kind 
of Art she couldn't bear, and that was what 
she calls the standoffish Art, the kind one 
sees, unhappily, at the National Gallery, 
supposing one ever goes to the National 
Gallery : stiff. But this Art wasn't stand- 
offish, it was just Nature. And she took 
herself so seriously as an Art critic that she 
gazed at the Matrimonial Problems in the 

attitude of the higher criticism — that is, with 
her hand round her eye. She also drew my 
attention to the expressions of the six: ladies. 
which, she said, were all alike, and just like 
the expression of her war- bride. And, indeed, 
the reader can verify for himself that every 
one of them is adorned with that look of 
triumphant peace which is the reward of 
those who have won. Should he in his 
innocence ask, "Won what?" (a woman 
wouldn't ; she'd know), I could only refer 
him to his inner consciousness. But, accord- 
ing to Maria, our artist has caught the 
triumphant note exactly. She added further, 
that if it weren't for women, most men 
wouldn't dream of getting married. 1 pon- 
dered over Maria's subtlety, and decided it 
wasn't subtlety, but an accident. 

" Of course," she admitted, for she is 
nothing if not just, *' I don't mean to say 
they ever propose, but they do sometimes 
help things along a teeny, weeny bit, when 
they don't quite — well, you know. 3 ' 

And, indeed, if anybody may be said to 
be an authority on " when they don't quite, 1 ' 
Maria is ; for her Samuel never knew he'd 

"the mystery 

Original from 



proposed till she told him, and then he realized 
it was too late to escape, and so resigned 
himself to the inevitable, and after a time 
Maria became a kind of habit. There are 
other cases like 

Maria's new 
insight into Art 
was most in- 
s tructive. 
( ' Youth and old 
enough to be his 
gra ndmother n 
seemed to strike 
an answering 
chord in her 

" She looks 
just like old Mrs, 
Apollo , who had 
such a hard time 
trying to marry 
young Phoebus 
Jones-" And 
Maria opened 
the flood - gates 
of memorv, 
* iF They thought 
they'd got it 
all so nicely 
arranged so that 
they could get 
married while all 
her family were 
at tea with hot 
muffins j and the 
church guaran- 
teed to be empty, 
and where ever 
they got anyone 
old enough to 
give her away an d 
look anything 
like a father/' 
Maria added in 

parentheses } " gracious only knows ! Any- 
how, they'd just got to the place where the 
Prayer Book says * let him speak or for ever r — 
you know," said Maria, " well, just then, at 
that very moment, if old Mrs. ApoIlo J s whole 
family, including all the grand-children and 
even the great-grand one with the comforter, 
didn't rush out of the pews, where they'd 
been hidden, and all but upset their poor old 
grandma at the altar, and every one of 'em 
said it wasn't to go on, for poor old grandma 
hadn't any mind. They meant, of course, 
that she had too much money ; only that 
wouldn't have sounded nice," Maria explained* 


" Anyhow, the clergyman was so annoyed 
because he'd lost his fee that he left 'em to 
fight it out amun^ themselves, and he'd got 
his cassock off even before he'd reached the 

vestry. And 
then they took 
her back to her 
flat in three taxis. 
"But they 
never ought to 
have left her 
alone/' and 
Maria shook her 
head as she 
pointed out the 
folly of leaving 
old age and a 
thumping bank 
account unpro- 
tected. u For she 
hadn't got her 
wedding- bonnet 
off before young 
Mr, Jones — who 
isn't half as silly 
as he looks— 
J phoned to say 
if she'd fly with 
him, he'd come 
at once in a taxi. 
And she 'phoned 
back that she 
still had her 
bonnet on, and 
she was dead 
tired of het 
family j and her 
heart was young. 
And he was so 
rushed that he 
came with only 
his pyjamas and 
a tooth ■ brush, 
and he had 
barely time to 
stuff her pearls, cash, and cheque-book in his 
ulster pockets and catch the seven o'clock 
for Birmingham, As it was, he nearly left 
her behind, for it was awfully dark and 
she'd forgotten to put on the phosphorous 
button he'd given her as a wedding pre- 
sent. Still, I don't know why old age 
shouldn't be happy," and Maria was lost 
in thought* " And I'm positive Mr, Bate- 
man must have met 'em, for that's the 
very image of her. And how beautiful he's 
done her transformation and her smile ! 
They're aNMfyfii'lftl ffM" theatre together, 
I medjhNIME^^ Jones, and 



she doesn't look a day over twenty— that 
is, behind." 

And, according to Maria, one of the few 
mercies still vouchsafed us is that there's 
no age in clothes. So these days even a great- 

my best Persian rug — so like Maria ! — and 
took a last look at the " Queer Couples." 

" I don't call 'em queer a bit," she said, 
critically. " You can see 'em any day shop- 
ping in Westbourne Grove, and nobody's 


grandmother has a chance. " For, after all," 
and Maria threw it down as a challenge, 
" women nowadays are only as old as their 

" Which is very young/' I said ; and so 
it is. And I felt sure she was thinking of 
Diana's twins, of whom she happens to be 
the grandmother, although she's apt to forget 
that when she's selecting her wardrobe. 

And Maria rose and shook her crumbs over 

ever said that Westbourne Grove looks queer. 
There isn't a day I don't shop there myself,'* 
and she rather implied that that was enough 
to give Westbourne Grove its cachet. 

" Still, I dare say there are a lot of queer 
people in the world, only they don't happen 
to know they're queer. And what a mercy 
that is ! " Maria remarked, in her superior way. 
" Anyhow, most people seem queer to some- 
body or other. Take vou" she said, with 




her usual sincere rudeness, 4L you've no idea 
how queer you are, People who try to be 
funny are always queer. It isn't natural to 
lur funny. Most people hate it ; I do. You 
thnt mind my saying so, but you ought to 
he can: fill, for I'm told funny people always 
come to a bad end. Anyhow , I am thankful 
to say I and Samuel aren't queer /' Maria 
announced, and pulled down her veil, wriggled 
her nose into place, shook out her skirts, and 
was so cocksure that I didn't even try to 
bold in my erring human nature, 

11 My dear Maria/' and I hope I said it 

litely, " you're so awfully queer yourself, 

it I only wish to gracious Mr. Bateman'd 
jt you in among his queer couples ! " 

Maria was so annoyed and swished about 
so tempestuously 
that I had all I 
could do to keep 
Mr. Bateman's Art 
from sliding down 
from the teapot 
and the milk -jug. 
Then she looked 
me up and down 
*n a way that de- 
manded instant 
retribution, only in 
this world instant 
retribution is so 
awfully slow. 
However, she'd no 
sooner turned her 
hack on me in the 
rudest way than 
I said to myself 3 
"Thanks be!" 

r retribution 
» ijile you wait was 

** H y poor 
Maria/' I said, 
very gently (I 
rould afford to), 
" after all, I was 
right ■ I was sure 
1 was. It really 
only did cost three 
pounds nineteen 
and six." 

She gave a most awful Start, and then she 
looked back like Lot's wife, only turned to 
>tone, not salt. 

1 What — what — how d'you know ? " And 
she quite forgot herself. 


u Because— because you've got a price- 
ticket hanging on behind, from the collar. 
It says , in bright red ink, ( Reduced to 
£3 r 9 s. 6d + from £4/ " 

There are some agonies that can't be 
described. The ancient Greeks, celebrated for 
their good taste, always covered theirs with 
a veil. What Tina would do, we don't know ; 
at least, not yet. 

It took Maria ages to recover, only then 
she didn't, but she tried to find some 
ameliorating circumstance. 

" Anyhow/' and she scooped up a sigh 
that was positively painful— 1 ' anyhow, I 
can't be too grateful that I went to the 
wrong wedding. Supposing I'd gone to the 
right one, I might "—and she paused to gasp, 

for the idea was .so 
perfectly appalling 
— " I might have 
sat in front of Mrs. 

I admitted that 
it was the ultimate 
tragedy to be dis- 
covered by Mrs, 
Dill - Binkie in a. 
three pounds nine- 
teen and six 
marked down from 
only four pounds. 

" But, Maria/* I 
urged, anxiously, 
" you didn't hap- 
pen to hear anyone 
laugh? " For I 
was dying to know, 
and a white price- 
ticket on a black 
back is in the 
nature of things not 

t( Only at the 
bride/ 7 Maria re- 
plied* haughtily, 
and dared me with 
her eye, 

M Oh ! TJ was all 

I said, and I'm sure 

I couldn't have 

said less. 

l< I think you're too horrid for words ! " 

and Maria swished out of the room, 

I wonder what she'll say when she finds 
out it's all in The Strand Magazine ? Won't 
she be mad ! 

by Google 

Original from 







•TRED of living 
with his wife , 
although she 
was the best 
of creatures, and 
divorce Seeing repug- 
nant to his moral and 
religious principles, 
M, Toupin took the 
kindly resolution of 
poisoning his spouse. 

As his studies had 
not included toxico- 
logy, the science of poisons , and keenly 
regretting that the formula of the drugs of 
the Borgias has been lost, M. Toupin was 
driven, as a plain man, to the use of common 

He therefore obtained an ounce or two 
from the nearest druggist, and by means of 
an accurate dose-measure he deftly sprinkled 
the food to be taken by the frail and delicate 
Madame Toupin. The rest he left to Provi- 

The effect of the arsenic was not long in 
declaring itself in the delicate system of his 
wife. But the result was surprising* Madame 
Toupin began to grow fat ! Her complexion 
became paler, no doubt ; but she declared 
that she had never felt so well in all her life. 

Cursing the arsenic which had deceived his 
fondest hopes, M. Toupin next pinned his 
faith to bichloride of mercury, which he 
had often heard spolcen of in the highest 

He procured a few doses from the nearest 
druggist, dissolved them in water, and added 
the soluticn to the drinks of Ins dear wife. 

Now, what happened ? The arsenic having 
given his spouse a ravenous appetite, she 
began to experience symptoms of dyspeptic 
trouble, which the salt of mercury completely 
cured. Madame Toupin blossomed like a rose 
in June. Among the neighbours her splendid 
health became a source of talk and wonder. 

Cursing the incapacity of the bichloride 
of mercury, M. Tcupin decided on a bold 

Digitized by LiQOifle 

like a charm on the 
Madame Toupin had 

stroke. He proceeded 
to the more formid 
able agency of opium. 

Procuring from the 
nearest druggist a 
bottle of laudanum, 
and this time without 
waiting to dole it out 
in doses, he mixed it 
recklessly with the 
food partaken by his 
better- half. 

The opium acted 
insomnia from which 
long been suffering* 

Her health became better and better. She 
grew plumper and rosier every day. 

It was enough to make a man knock his 
head against the walh 
. Poor M, Toupin ! Unfortunate husband ! 

Recognizing the incompetency of toxi- 
cology, he was undecided what form of poison 
to try next, when one evening his wife was 
taken ill and fainted in his arms. 

11 The die is cast," growled M. Toupin. 
And, seizing a knife which was lying on the 
table, he dealt his wife a desperate blow. 

li Well, my dear sir," said the doctor, for 
whom the servant had rushed out when she 
saw her mistTess fainting, " it was your 
presence of mind that saved her. If it had 
not been for your promptness in bleeding 
your dear wife on the spot, you must have 
lost her— she would have died of apoplexy. 
But I have always foreseen the danger of a 
similar attack. Her health is too good — that 
is the fact of the matter. It is not natural." 

Then, realizing that every attempt against 
his wife only resulted in adding several years 
to her existence, convinced of his powerless- 
nesSj M. Toupin resigned himself to fate. 
He confided his wife to the doctor's care, 
beseeching him to do everything possible to 
restore her to health and vigour. 

1 he man of science swore that in a month 
she would be as well as ever, and in a week 
she wasdHfhai frorn 





The Inside Story of the War. 





(May 9th— 24th). 

The New Attack — Ordeal of the Twenty- Fifth Brigade — Attack of the 
First Division — Fateful Days — A Difficult Situation — Attack of the Second 
Division — Attack of the Seventh Division — British Success — Good Work 
of the Canadians — Advance of the Forty-Seventh London Division — 

The Lull Before the Storm. 

HILST this desperate fighting 
was going on in the north, a 
very extensive operation had 
been begun in the south, a great 
attack being made by the First 
Army with the direct purpose 
of breaking the German line, and 
the indirect one of engaging their 
troops and preventing them from sending help 
to their comrades, who were hard-pressed by the 
French near Arras. In this secondary purpose 
the movement was entirely successful, but the 
direct gain of ground was not commensurate with 
the great exertions and losses of the Army. For 
some days the results were entirely barren, but 
the patient determination of Sir John French and 
of Sir Douglas Haig had their final reward, and by 
May 25th, when the movement had been brought 
to a close, there had been a general advance 
of six hundred yards over a front of four miles, 
with a capture of ten machine guns and some 
eight hundred prisoners. These meagre trophies 

Copyright, 1917, by 

of victory can, however, hardly be said to com- 
pensate us for the heavy and unavoidable losses, 
which must generally, in the case of the attack, 
be heavier than those of the defence, save when 
the former has an overwhelming preponderance 
of artillery. 

This important attack was made upon May 
9th over a front of about ten miles from the 
Laventie district in the north to that of Riche- 
bourg in the south. In the case of the northern 
attack it was carried out by Rawlinson's Fourth 
Corps, and was directed upon the sector of the 
German lines to the north-west of Fromelles 
at the point which is named Rouges Bancs. 
The southern attack was allotted to the Indian 
Corps (Willcocks) and the First Corps acting 
together. These two efforts represented the 
real foci of activity, but a general action was 
carried on from one end of the line to the other 
in order to confuse the issue and hold the 

A r: n C y *mftt OF MICHIGAN 



Both in the nortfc 
and in the south the 
special attack was 
opened by a sudden 
and severe bombard - 
ment, which lasted 
for about forty 
minutes. This had 
been the prelude to 
the victory of Neuve 
Chapelle, but in the 
case of Neuve Cha- 
pelle the British 
attack had been a 
complete surprise, 
whereas i a this 
action of May nth 
there is ample 
evidence that the 
Germans were well- 
informed as to the 
impending move- 
ment, and were 
prepared for it. 
Their trenches were 
exceedingly deep, 
partly vulnerable to 
high explosives but 
immune to shrapneL 
None the less, the 
bombardment was 
severe and accurate, 
though, as it proved, 
insufficient to break 
down the exceeding- 
ly effective system 

of defence, which was based upon barbed wire, 
machine-guns, and the mutual support of trenches. 


The attack in Rawlinson's northern sector 
was cou filled to Lowry Cole's Twenty-fifth 
Brigade, supported by the remainder of the 
Eighth Division. Ths brigade consisted of 
the rst Irish Rifles. 2nd Berkshires, 2nd Rifle 
Brigade, 2nd Lincolns, and a Territorial bat- 
talion—the 13 th London (Kensington^). The 
latter regiment was given a special task, which 
was to seize and hold a considerable mine- 
crater upon the left of the line. The rest of the 
brigade were ordered at five- thirty to charge the 
German trenches, which was done with the great- 
est dash and gallantry. Through a terrific fire of 
rirles and machine-guns the waves of men rolled 
forward and poured into the trench, the 1st 
Irish RMes and the 2nd Rifle Brigade leading 
the assault. It was found, however, that further 
progress could not be made. As the men 
sprang over the parapets to advance upon the 
second line they were mowed down in an 
instant. Long swathes of our dead marked the 
sweep of the murderous machine-guns. The 
Brigadier himself, with his Brigade- Major at 
his heels, sprang forward to lead the troops, 
but both were shot down in an instant, Lowry 
Cole being killed and Major Dill badly wounded, 
It was simply impossible to get forward. No 
bravery, no perseverance, no human quality 



whatever could avail against the relentless 
sleet of lead. The Kensingtons in their crater 
had the same experience, and could only hold on 
in imperfect cover and endure a most pitiless pelt- 
ing. For a long day, until the forenoon of the 
tenth, the ground which had been won was held. 
Then, at last, the bitter moment came when the 
enfeebled survivors, weakened by thirty -six hours 
of fighting and fiercely attacked on all sides, 
were compe led to fall back upon their original 
lines. The retirement was conducted with a 
steadiness which verged upon bravado. " These 
God like fools ! ' was the striking phrase of a 
generous German who observed the thin ranks 
sauntering back under a crushing fire, with 
occasional halts to gather up their wounded. 
The casualty figures show how terrific was the 
ordeal to which the men had been exjxjsed, 
The Irish Kifles lost the extraordinarily heavy 
numbers of nine orlicers killed, thirteen wounded, 
and four hundred and sixty-five men out of 
action. The total of the 2nd Rifle Brigade was 
even more terrible, working out as twenty -one 
officers and live hundred and twenty-six men 
dead or wounded. The figures *of the 2nd 
Berks hires and of the 2nd Lincolns were heavy, 
hut less disastrous than those already quoted- 
The former lost twenty officers and two hundred 
and sixty-three men, the latter eight officers 
and two hundred and fifty-eight men. The 
24th Brigade (O-thv; which had supported the 



endured losses which were almost as disastrous. 
The 2nd East Lancashire^ lost nineteen officers 
and four hundred and thirty-five men, the ist 
Sherwood Foresters seventeen officers and 
three hundred and forty-two men, the 2nd 
Northamptons twelve officers and four hundred 
and fourteen men, the 5th Black Watch eight 
officers and one hundred and forty men. The 
losses of the Twenty- third ^rigade, which 
remained in support, were by no means light, 
for the Scottish Kiflcs lost twelve oil leers and 
one hundred and fifty-six men, while the 2nd 
Devons lost seven officers and two hundred and 
thirty- four men. Altogether the Eighth Divi- 
sion lost four thousand five hundred men, a 
single brigade {the Twenty-fifth) accounting 
for two thousand two hundred and thirty -two 
of these casualties.. Deplorable as they are, 
these figures must at least show that officers 
and men had done all that could be attempted 
to achieve the victory, When it is remem- 
bered that these were the same battalions 
which had lost so terribly at Neuve ChapeUe 
just two months before, one can but marvel at 
the iron nerve which enabled them once again 
tcj endure so searching a test. 

It has been stated that the Kensingtons were 
given a separate mission of their own in the 
capture and defence of a mine- crater upon the 
left of the British line. They actually carried 
not only the crater, but a considerable section 
uf the hostile trenches, penetrating at one time 


as deep as the third 
line ; but reinforce 
ments could not 
reach them, their 
flanks were bare, and 
they were at last 
forced to retire. M It 
was bitter and 
damnable I *' cries 
one of them out of 
his full heart. It 
was with the greatest 
difficulty that the 
remains of the gallant 
band were able to 
make their way back 
again to the British 
line of tre n c h es. 
Nine officers were 
killed, four wounded, 
and four hundred 
and twenty men 
were hit out of about 
seven hundred who 
went into action. 

This attack and 
bloody repulse was 
the first stage of the 
Battle of Richehourg 
At the same hour the 
Indians and the First 
Corps had advanced 
upon the German 
lines to the north of 
Givenchy with the 
same undaunted 
courage, the same heavy losses, and the same 
barren result. The events of May 9th will always 
stand in military history as among the most 
honourable, if unsuccessful, of the many hard 
experiences of the British soldiers in Elan tiers, 


In the case of the Indians, the attack was 
checked early and could make no headway 
against the terribly arduous conditions, Their 
advance was upon the right of that of the 
Fourth Corps, already described. Farther still to 
the right or ftouth, in the region of Richebourg 
l'Avoue^ was the front of the First Division, 
which was fated to be even more heavily 
punished than the Eighth in the north. In 
this case also there was a prelude of forty 
minutes' concentrated fire — -a period which, as 
the result showed, was entirely inadequate to 
neutralize the many obstacles with which the 
stormers were faced. During the night the 
sappers had bridged the ditches between the 
front trenches and the supports, and had also 
crept out and thrown bridges over the ditches 
between the two lines, The Second Brigade 
(Thesiger), consisting of the 1st Northampton^, 
2nd and 5th Sussex, 2nd Rifles, 1st North 
Eaneashires, and nth Livcrpools, attacked upon 
the right— -indeed, they formed at that moment 
the extreme rigtit. of the whole British Army r 
save for the P^olfth&tfdwiff® ITLondon Division, 

in trench m |VER5rTWF^I(?fflS.W ath ^ ™ 




r Ly s < 



bright and clear, but the effect of the bom- 
bardment was to raise such a cloud of dust 
that two men from each platoon in the front 
line were able to carry forward a light bridge 
with which they gained a line about eighty 
yards from the enemy's parapet. The instant 
that the guns ceased the infantry dashed for- 
ward, but were met by a withering fire. The 1st 
Northamptons and 2nd Sussex were in the lead, 
and the ground 
between the armies 
was littered with 
their bodies. In a 
second wave came 
the 2nd Rifles and 
the 5th Sussex, 
but human valour 
could do nothing 
against the pelting 
sleet of lead. The 
wire had been very 
imperfectly cut, 
and it was impos- 
sible to get through. 
The survivors fell 
back into the front 
trenches, while 
their comrades lay 
in lines and heaps 
upon the bullet- 
swept plain. The 
5th Sussex Terri- 
torials had their 
baptism of Are, the 
first and last for 
many, and carried 
themselves like 
men. A line of 
German machine- 
guns was posted in 
a position almost 
at right angles to 
the advance, and it 
was these which in- 
flicted the heaviest 
losses. Hardly a MAP ILLUSTRATING 

single man got as RICHEBOURG 

far as the German 

parapet. At six-twenty the assault was a 
definite failure. 

On the left the Third Brigade had kept 
pace with the Second and had shared its trials 
and its losses. The van of the charging brigade 
was formed by the 2nd Munsters with the 4th 
Royal Welsh Fusiliers. The 1st Gloucesters 
and 1st South Wales Borderers were in close 
support. Their attack was on the German 
line at the Rue des Bois, three hundred yards 
away. They reached the trenches, though 
Colonel Richard of the Munsters and very many 
of his men were killed. This was the third 
Munster Colonel (Charrier, Bent, Richard) 
to be killed or disabled in the war. The men 
surged over the parapet, Captain Campbell- 
Dick standing on the crest of it and whooping 
them on with his cap as if they were a pack 
of hounds. He fell dead even as they passed 
him. The trenches were taken but could 

not be held, as there were no supports, and the 
assault had failed on either side. Under cover 
of a renewed artillery fire the survivors came 
slowly and sullenly back. Once more, and for 
the third time, the 2nd Munsters were reduced 
to two hundred rank and file. Three officers 
emerged unhurt from the action. 

A second attack was ordered for midday, 
the regiments being shifted round so as to 

bring the supports 

Ypres^ #Hooge 

.-..IB B L O E UM 


X>* ROUBAIX |fi| 




* Seciin 

Betliune .Festubert 
l_,--. # Givenchy 

Hohenzollern !*«»«•♦ BraSSee 

.. ,, • •Huilluch 





into the front line. 
It was soon found, 
however, that the 
losses had already 
been so heavy that 
it was impossible, 
especially in the 
Second Brigade, to 
muster sufficient 
force for a success* 
ful advance. The 
First Guards' Bri- 
gade (Lowther) was 
therefore brought 
to the front, and, 
after a renewed 
bombardment, at 
four o'clock the 
two leading bat- 
talions — the 1 st 
Black Watch and 
the 1st Cameron 
Highlanders — - 
rushed to the 
assault over the 
bodies of their 
fallen comrades. 
It is on record that, 
as the Highlanders 
dashed forward, a 
number of the 
wounded, who had 
been lying in the 
open since morn- 
ing, staggered to 
their feet and 
joined in the 
charge. It was a 
desperate effort, and the khaki wave rolled up 
to the trenches, and even lapped over them in 
places ; but the losses were too heavy, and the 
advance had lost all weight before it reached the 
German line. At one point a handful of Black 
Watch got over the line, but it was impossible 
to reinforce them, and they were compelled to 
fall back. At six o'clock the survivors of the 
First Brigade were back in their trenches once 
more. Late the same night the Fifth Brigade 
of the Second Division was brought up to take 
over the line, and the remains of the First 
Division were withdrawn to the rear. 

The losses of the Second Brigade were seventy 
officers and one thousand seven hundred and 
ninety- three men, which might have been 
cited as possibly the highest number incurred 
in the same length of time, had it not been for 
the terrible figure? of the Twenty-fifth Brigade 





brigades of the division were hard hit, the total 
losses of the division amounting to nearly 
five thousand men. If .the loss of the Indian 
Corps be included, the total number of casual- 
ties in this assault cannot have been less than 
from twelve thousand to thirteen thousand men ; 
while the losses to the enemy inflicted by the 
artillery could not possibly have approximated 
to this figure, nor had any advantage been 
obtained, as already stated, save that the 
attack may have diverted pressure from the 
French advance near Arras. 


There are few single periods of the war so 
crowded with incident as from May 7th to 
9th. In the north the second Battle of Ypres 
was at its height. In the south the Battle of 
Richebourg had begun. But a third incident 
occurred upon the earlier date which -struck 
the civilized world with a horror which no 
combat, however murderous, could inspire. 
It was the day when nearly one thousand two 
hundred civilians, with a considerable propor- 
tion of women and little children, were murdered 
by being torpedoed and drowned in the unarmed 
liner, the Lusitania. Such incidents do not 
come within the scope of this narrative, and yet 
this particular one had an undoubted military 
bearing upon the war, since it hardened our 
resolve, stimulated our recruiting, and nerved 
our soldiers in a very marked degree, while 
finally removing any possibility of peace 
based upon compromise. No such crime 
against civilians has been committed in deli- 
berate warfare since the days of Tamerlane or 
Timour the Tartar ; yet it is dreadful to have 
to add that it was hailed as a triumph from one 
end of Germany to the other, and no protest 
appeared in the German Press, to such depths 
of demoralization had this once Christian and 
civilized nation been reduced. 


To return to the situation in Flanders, it is 
impossible not to admire the tenacity of Sir 
John French under the very difficult circum- 
stances in which he was now placed. His 
troops at Ypres were still fighting with 
their backs to the wall. Their position on 
May 10th was precarious. The only reinforce- 
ments they could hope for in case of disaster 
were from the south. And yet the south had 
itself received a severe rebuff. Was it best to 
abandon the attack there and reassume the 
defensive, so as to have the men available in 
case there should come an urgent call from the 
north ? A weaker general would have said 
so, and accepted his defeat at Festubert. ' Sir 
John, however, was not so easily to be deflected 
from his plans. He steadied himself by a 
day or two of rest, during which he not only 
prepared fresh forces for striking, but got the 
measure of the enemy's power at Ypres. Then 
it was determined that the action should pro- 
ceed, but that it should be directed to the 
more southerly area of the British position, 
where it would be in closer touch with the 

French and receive some support from their 
admirable artillery. 

The centre of the British movement was 
still at Richebourg l'Avou6, but the direction 
of the advance was modified. It had already 
been shown that the passage of open spaces 
under machine-gun fire was difficult and 
deadly by daylight, so it was determined 
that night should be used for the advance. 
Several successive nights were unfavourable, 
but the days were spent in a deliberate artillery 
preparation until the action was recommenced 
upon May 15th. In the interval the Second 
Division had taken the place of the First in 
the Givenchy sector, and the Seventh Division 
of the Fourth Corps had been brought round 
from the Laventie district, and was now upon 
the right of their comrades of the First Corps. 
The Canadian Division was brought up in 
support, while the Indian Corps still preserved 
its position upon the left. The general line 
of attack was from Richebourg by the Rue 
des Bois, and so south in front of Festubert. 


The advance was made by the Indians upon 
the left and the Second Division upon the 
right at eleven-thirty on the night of May 15th. 
The Indians were held up, and maintained 
from that time onwards a defensive position. 
When it is remembered that the Meerut Division 
had suffered heavily at Neuve Chapelle, that 
the Lahore Division had been very hard hit 
at Ypres, and that there was only a limited 
facility for replacing the losses of the native 
regiments, it is not to be wondered at that 
the corps had weakened. The Second Division, 
however, would take no denial. The attack 
was in the hands Of the Fifth and Sixth Brigades, 
with the Fourth Guards' Brigade in support. 
It was to sweep over the ground which had 
been the scene of the repulse of the 9th, but it 
was to be screened by darkness. Soon after 
ten o'clock the men passed silently over the 
front trench, and lay down in four fines in the 
open waiting for the signal. At eleven- thirty 
the word was passed, and they advanced at 
a walk. The front line of the Fifth Brigade 
was composed of the 2nd Worcesters upon the 
left, and the Inniskilling Fusiliers (taken from 
the Twelfth Brigade) upon the right. The 
leading battalions of the Sixth Brigade were the 
1st Rifles, the 1st King's Liverpools, 1st Berk- 
shires, and upon the extreme right two com- 
panies (A and B) of the 7th King's Liverpools. 
Flares were suddenly discharged from the Ger- 
man trenches, and a ghostly flickering radiance 
illuminated the long lines of crouching men. 
There were numerous ditches in front, but the 
sappers had stolen forward and spanned them 
with rude bridges. The German fire was terrific, 
but the uncertain quivering light made it less 
deadly than it had been during the daytime. 
Very many fell, but it was insufficient to 
stop the determined rush of the British infantry. 
The rifles could not hold them back, and 
sweeping jets from machine guns could not kill 
then, ^^^^t^^^eath cou.d 




hold that furious line, In three minutes they 
had swarmed across the open and poured into 
the trenches, killing or taking all the Germans 
who were in the front line. The 2nd Worces- 
ter on the left were held up by unbroken 
barbed wire, and were unable to get forward ; 
but all the other regiments reached the trench, 
and cleared it for a considerable distance on 
either flank, the bombers rushing along it and 
hurling their deadly weapons in front of them. 
The remainder rushed down the communication 
trench and seized the second line of defences 
some hundreds of yards behind the first. On 
the morning of Sunday, May i6thj the Second 
Division had gained and firmly held about half 
a mile in breadth and a quarter of a mile in 
depth of the German trenches. There was 
an open plain in the rear between the advanced 
regiments and their supports, which as the 
light grew clearer was so swept by German 
fire that it was nearly impossible to get across 
it. About eight-thirty in the morning the 

remainder of the 7th King's Liverpool, with some 
of their comrades of the 5th King's Liverpool, 
endeavoured to join the others in front, but 
were shot to pieces in the venture* During 
the whole of* the morning, however, single 
volunteers kept running forward carrying fresh 
supplies of bombs and bandoliers of cartridges 
for the men in front. The names of most of 
these brave men are to be found in the casualty 
lists, and their memory* in the hearts of their 


Four hours after this successful attack by 
the Second Division, at three-thirty on the 
morning of Sunday, May i6th h another assault 
was made by the Seventh Division some miles to 
the south, just north of LYstuberl:. The attack 
was made by the Twentieth Brigade (Hey worth) 
upon the left and the Twenty -second (Law ford) 
upon tha right^l fflfjpri 2nd Borders and 2nd 

^Brf^rttffltffiffilf' the Twentieth * 



supported later by the ist Grenadiers and 2nd 
Gordons ; while the ist Welsh Fusiliers and 2nd 
Queen's Surrey were in the van of the Twenty- 
second, with the 2nd Warwicks, 8th Royal 
Scots, and ist South Staffords behind them. 
The famous Seventh Division has never yet 
found its master in this campaign, and the 
Seventh Prussian Corps in the south could make 
no more of it than the Fifteenth had done in 
the north. The eager infantry swept over the 
whole section of the German position, carrying 
trench after trench. The surprise at this por- 
tion of the line seems to have been complete, 
and the ground gained was twelve hundred yards 
both in breadth and in depth. Some hundreds of 
prisoners were taken — -more than a hundred by a 
single bombing party of nine men led by Sergeant 
Barter, of the Welsh Fusiliers. The Germans 
rallied finely, and the Scots Guards, who had 
advanced with a fury which outdistanced their 
comrades, lost nearly a whole company. The 
numbers of the fallen were very great, and the 
murderous nature of the fighting may be judged 
from the fact that of the leading regiments. 
Colonel Wood, of the Borders, Colonel Gabbett, 
of the Fusiliers, Major Bottomley, commanding 
the Queen's, and Colonel Brook, of the 8th Royal 
Scots, were all killed or mortally wounded. 
The ist Grenadiers came up in support, as did 
the 7th London, and the ground gained was 
consolidated. All day on May 16th a desperate 
and very effective bombardment was opened 
by the heavy German guns upon the new lines 
both of the Second and of the Seventh Divisions ; 
but the infantry clung desperately to what they 
had gained, while waiting for supports in order 
to make a further advance. 


On the night of May 1 6th the Germans made 
a counter-attack, which pushed back the ex- 
treme apex of the ground gained by the Seventh 
Division. All other points were held. The 
British had now cut two holes in the German 
front over a distance of about three miles, but 
between the two holes, into which the heads 
of the Second and Seventh Divisions had buried 
themselves, there lay one section of a thousand 
yards inviolate, strongly defended by intricate 
works and machine-guns. Desperate endeavours 
had been made by the Second Division upon the 
1 6th to get round the north of this position, 
but the fire was too murderous, and all were 
repulsed. At half-past nine in the morning of 
the 17th the attempt was renewed from both 
sides, with a strong artillery support. On the 
north the Highland Light Infantry and the 
2nd Oxford and Bucks made a strong attack, 
while on the south the Twenty-first Brigade 
pushed to the front. The 4th Camerons, a 
Gaelic-speaking battalion of shepherds and 
gillies, kept fair pace with the veteran regular 
regiments of the brigade, and lost its gallant 
Colonel Fraser. Gradually the valiant defenders 
were driven from post to post and crushed under 
the cross-fire. About midday the position was 
in the hands of the British, three hundred 
survivors having been captured. After this 

Vol. liiw-19. 

consolidation of their front the two attacking 
divisions drove on together to the eastward, 
winning ground all the day, but meeting every- 
where the same stark resistance. Farmhouse 
after farmhouse was carried. At one point a 
considerable^body of Germans rushed out from 
an untenable position ; but on their putting up 
their hands and advancing towards the British 
they were mowed down to the number of some 
hundreds by the rifles and cannon of their com- 
rades in the rear. South of Festubert the thick 
spray of bombers and bayonet-men thrown out 
by the Seventh Division into the German 
trenches were making ground all day, and the 
enemy's loss in this quarter was exceedingly 
heavy. The 57th Prussian Regiment of 
Infantry, among others, is said to have lost 
more than two-thirds of their numbers during 
these operations. 

By the evening of Monday, May 17th, the 
hostile front had been crushed in for a space ot 
over two miles, and the British Army had 
regained the ascendancy which had been momen- 
tarily checked upon May 9th. If a larger tale 
of prisoners was not forthcoming as a proof of 
victory, the explanation lay in the desperate 
nature of the encounter. The sinking of the 
Lusitania and the murders by poison-gas were 
in the thoughts and on the lips of the assaulting 
infantry, and many a German made a vicarious 
atonement. At the same time, the little mobs 
of men who rushed forward with white flags in 
one hand, and, in many cases, their purses out- 
stretched in the other, were given quarter and 
led to the rear, safe from all violence save from 
their own artillery. There were many fierce 
threats of no quarter before the engagement, 
but with victory the traditional kindliness of 
the British soldier asserted itself once more. 

On the evening of the 17th the men in the 
front line were relieved, the Fourth Guards' 
Brigade taking over the advanced trenches 
in which the ist King's and other regiments 
of the Fifth and Sixth Brigades were lying. 
The Guards had to advance a considerable 
distance under very heavy fire to reach their 
objective, and there is a touch of other days 
in the fact that the Bishop of Khartoum ctood 
by the trenches and blessed them as they passed. 
They lost many men from the terrible artillery 
fire, but they were able to extend and to consoli- 
date the line. All day of the 18th the Guards 
held the front line, until relieved at midnight 
of that date by the advance of another division. 

The 1 8th saw the general advance renewed, 
but it was hampered by the fact that the heavy 
weather made it difficult to obtain the artillery 
support which is so needful where buildings 
have to be carried. It was upon this date that 
the two hard-working and victorious divisions, 
the Second and the Seventh, were reinforced, 
and eventually relieved, by the Fifty-first High- 
land Territorial Division and by the Canadians, 
the guns of the two regular divisions being 
retained. The operations, which had hitherto 
been under Munro, of the First Corps, were now 
confided to ALIeison, of the Canadians. At 

this ti ffRlVft$ffrfrWlflfe8fl advance was 





the road which extends from La Quinque to 
Bethune, An attack was made that night by 
the 14th and i6th Canadian battalions, gaining 
some ground in the direction of the orchard. 


The change of troops did not entail any 
alteration in strategy, and the slow advance 
went forward. Upon the night of May 20th- 
21st the Canadians continued the work of the 
Seventh Division, and added several fresh 
German trenches to the area already secured. 
From Richebourg to the south and east there 
was now a considerable erosion in the German 
position. The first objective of the Canadians 
was an orchard in the Quinque Rue position, 
which was assaulted by the 1 6th Canadian 
Scottish (Leckie), after a gallant reconnaissance 
by Major Leckie, of the same regiment. The 
Canadians were thrust in between the 3rd 
Coldstream Guards, of the Second Division, 
upon their left, and the 2nd Wiltshire^, of the 
S e v en t h Di visio n , u pon thei r rig ht . T he ore hard 
was cleared in most gallant fashion by Captain 
Morrisons company, and a trench upon the 
flank of it was taken ; but the Canadian loss was 
considerable, both in the regiments named and 
in the RoyaL Canadian Highlanders, in support. 
Another Canadian battalion, the 10th, had 
attacked the German line a mile to the south 
of the orchard, and had been repulsed, A heavy 
bombardment was organized, and the attempt 
was renewed upon the following day, two com- 
panies of the loth, preceded by a company of 
grenade-throwers, carrying four hundred yards of 
the trench at a very severe cost* It was partly 
recaptured by the Germans upon May 22nd, while 
part remained in the hands of the Canadians. 
Several counter-attacks were made upon the 
Canadians during this day, but all withered away 
before the deadly fire uf the Western infantry. 

On May 24th the Canadians were attacking 
once more at the position where the 10th 
Battalion had obtained a partial success upon 
the 22nd. It was a strongly- fortified post which 
had been named M Bexhill " by the British. 
The assault was carried out at daybreak by two 
companies of the 5th BatialiofaJ bdAm Major 

Edgar, with a company of the 7th British 
Columbians in support. Before six; o'clock the 
position had been carried, and was held alt 
day in face of a concentrated shell -fire from the 
German guns. It was a terrible ordeal, for 
the brigade lost fifty o nicer s and nearly a 
thousand men, but never their grip of the 
German trench. On the same night, however, 
another Canadian attack, delivered by the 3rd 
Battalion (Rennie) with great fire and energy, 
was eventually repulsed by the machine-guns. 


This long- drawn, straggling action, which 
had commenced with such fury upon May 9th, 
w r as now burning itself out. Prolonged opera- 
tions of this kind can only be carried on by 
fresh relays of troops. The Forty -seventh Lon- 
don Territorial Division was brought up into 
the front line h and found itself involved at once 
in some fierce fighting at the extreme right of 
the British line near Givenchy. The Forty - 
seventh Division (formerly the Second London 
Division) was at this date the only London 
division, since the regiments which composed 
the First — -the Artists, Victorias, Rangers, 
Westminsters, etc. — -had already been absorbed 
by regular brigades, The division, commanded 
by General Barter, consisted of the 140th 
(Cuthbert), 141st (Thwaites), and 142nd (\Yil- 
loughby) Brigades. On the evening of May 
2jtn the latter brigade, which occupied the 
front-Ime trench, was ordered to make an attack 
upon the German line opposite, whilst the 18th 
Battalion, of the 141st Brigade, made a strong 
feint to draw their fire. The tirst-line regiments 
were the 23rd and 24th, of which the 23rd, upon 
the left, had some three hundred yards of open 
to cross ; while the 24th, upon the right, had not 
more than a hundred and fifty. Both regi- 
ments reached their objective in safety, and 
within three minutes had established telephonic 
communications with their supports of the 21st 
and 22 nd Battalions. The capture of the 
trenches had not been difficult, but their reten- 
tion was exceedingly * f ~\ a ^ there was a ridge 




manded the whole line. Each man had brought 
a sandbag with him, and these were rapidly -filled, 
while officers and men worked desperately in 
building up a defensive traverse. Three German 
attacks got up within ten yards of the 24 th, but all 
were beaten back. The German bombers, how- 
ever, were deadly, and many officers and men 
were among their victims. The 21st Battalion 
had followed up the 23rd, and by ten-thirty they 
were able to work along the line of the German 
trench and make good the position. All day upon 
May 26th they were exposed to a very heavy 
and accurate German fire ; but that afternoon, 
about 4 p.m., they were relieved by the 20th 
London Regiment, fromThwaites' 1 41st Brigade. 
The line was consolidated and held, in spite of 
a sharp attack on the afternoon of May 28th, 
which was beaten off by the 20 th Battalion, 

Whilst the London Division had been thrust 
into the right of the British line, the Canadian 
Infantry had been relieved by bringing forward 
into the trenches the dismounted troopers of 
King Edward's and Strath cona's Horse, belong- 
ing to Seely's Mounted Canadian Brigade, who 
fought as well as their fellow-countrymen of 
the infantry — a standard not to be surpassed. 


From this time onwards there was a long lull 
in this section of the British line. The time 
was spent in rearranging the units of the Army, 
and in waiting for those great rcinforcemenis'of 
munitions which were so urgently needed. It 
was recognized that it was absolutely impossible 
to make a victorious advance, or to do more 
than to hold one's ground, when the guns of 
the enemy could fire six shells to our one. In 
Britain the significance of this fact had at last 
been made apparent, and the whole will and 
energy of the country were turned to the produc- 
tion of ammunition. Not only were the old 
factories in full swing, but great new centres 
were created in towns which had never yet 
sent forth such sinister exports* Mr + Lloyd 
George threw all his energy and contagious 
enthusiasm into this vital work, and per- 

by VjC 

(To be 

formed the same miracles in the organization 
and improvisation of the tools of warfare that 
Lord Kitchener had done in the case of the New 
Armies. They were services which his country 
can never forget. Under his energy and inspira- 
tion the huge output of Essen and the other 
factories of Germany were equalled, and finally 
far surpassed, by the improvised and largely 
amateur munition workers of Britain. The 
main difficulty in the production of high ex- 
plosives had lain in the scarcity of picric acid. 
Our Free Trade policy, which has much to 
recommend it in some aspects, had been pushed 
to such absurd and pedantic lengths that this 
vital product had been allowed to fall into the 
hands of our enemy, although it is a derivative 
of that coal- tar in which we are so rich. Now 
at last the plants for its production were laid 
down, every little village gasworks was sending 
up its quota of toluol to the central receivers. 
Finally, in explosives as in shells and guns, the 
British were able to supply their own wants 
fully and to assist their Allies. One of the 
strangest, and also most honourable, episodes 
of the war was this great economic effort, which 
involved sacrifices to the time, comfort, and 
often to the health of individuals so great as 
to match those of the soldiers. Grotesque 
combinations resulted from the eagerness of 
all classes to lend a hand. An observer has 
described how a peer and a prize-fighter have 
been seen working on the same bench at Wool- 
wich ; while titled ladies and young girls from 
cultured homes earned sixteen shillings a week 
and boasted in the morning of the number of shell- 
cases which they had turned and finished in 
their hours of night-shift. Truly it had become a 
National War, Of all its strange memories none 
will be stranger than those of the peaceful, 
middle-aged civilians of sedentary habits who 
were seen eagerly reading books upon elementary 
drill in order to prepare themselves to face the 
most famous soldiers in Kurope, or of the school- 
girls and matrons who donned blue blouses and 
by their united work surpassed the output of 
the great death factories of Fssem 

Original from 

C0nUnm University of Michigan 



MR. G. L. ST AM PA. 

Humorous Urchin, 





are not always 

odious , and Mr, 

G* L* St am pa 

will hardly take 
it amiss if we say that his 
studies of the London street- 
urchin inevitably send our 
thoughts back to Phil May, 
and the latter's classic draw- 
i n g s of M Guttersnipes/' 
For Mr; Stain pa has proved 
himself a worthy successor to 
the master in the portrayal 
of those humours of street- 
life which he has taken as 
his own especial province. 

The charm of Mr.Stampa's 
drawings of ragamuffins 
arises out of the complete 
understanding which they 
curious, half-sophisticated mind which belongs 
to the child of the London streets. One 
suspects also that the artist is one of those 
fortunate individuals who have never quite 
grown up. It is to he noted that he loves 

Colonel of Swashbucklers : "Nab, then, swank I The wimmin 
can look arter themselves* You 'op it an J jine yet legtmem.*' 

Rrjfroductd bg tke tpecial ptf r ■ m 1 1 1 uit of thr. I*rapri«tors a/ ' ' Pun A. " 

evince of that 

to draw his small friends at play, and it is 

evident that he enjoys their games as much 

as they do. If he did not enter into the 

spirit of the thing so whole-heartedly, he could 

never convey with such success the zest which 

the guttersnipe (who touches life very much 

on the raw) brings to 

his play as to everything 

else. When we see the 

gutter-colonel ordering 

a recalcitrant subaltern 

to li 'op it " and join 

his regiment forthwith. 

as " the wimmin can 

look arter themselves/ 5 

there is no mistaking 

the intense reality of 

the game to the players. 

And one suspects that 

the artist, shutting up 

his sketch - book and 

bringing his umbrella 

smartly to the slope, 

marched away at the 

tail of the **regi- 

*' 'E AIN'T goin to wicket-keep, is p e ? " ment n 

u VMS we always puts young Bill there when Jim's bowline. Vtfj he tan 'ide ,„. * __ 

NintAtpJi." Original frarW 1 ™" again, Mr. 

J^lirodiiced bg «fe tpnwl penniui** 0/ ike PmprUUr* 0/ " J*i*Ffti \\J ppCI T V f| L /Sff^PRP* hf " 0W5 a ve T 




GiRi, (suddenly noticing policeman) : " I fahnd it like that. 
It, mister ; straight, I never ! " 

Rtprotlticut ou the ipetial permUrim of lh* Proprietor* of " Punch.' 

proper respect for the seriousness of the child. 
He would be, one feels sure, a delightful 
person to play games with in actual fact ; 
and even as an invisible participant in the 
gutter snipe's occupations he is careful to 
avoid that " superiority" of attitude which 
makes the average grown-up a spoil-sport 
and a nuisance. He never holds the 'ntentness 
of the youthful mind up to obvious ridicule, 
but rather admits us to a share of his own 
private enjoyment of it. Hence, for example, 
our ability to revel in the delicious self- 
importance of " young Bill " as he dons the 
wicket - keeping gloves, and 
our confident anticipation of 
watching him +< 'ide behind 
the pads/ 1 when the fast 
bowling begins, without fear 
of upsetting his dignity. 

We do not suppose that the 
artist has always witnessed 
or heard the scene or dialogue 
which he records, but either 
is invariably true to type. 
1 hecommentaries upon topics 
of the hour which he puts 
into the mouths of his sharp- 
fitted urchins, or the re- 
action of passing events upon 
their games which he shows, 
are all exactly what m'gkt 
occur. Witness, for instance, 
the perfervid attack of a 
mob of fierce patriots upon 
the unfortunate young woman 

who once rashly kissed 
her hand to the Kaiser as 
he went in state through 
the City streets ; or tin* 
frantic disclaimer of 
the minute person who 
fears, being surprised in 
close proximity to 
devastated property, 
that she may be sus- 
pected of suffragette 

And if there were 
any question of- Mr. 
Stampa's title to be 
called humorist, the 
pathos which in his 
sketches of ragamuffins 
lurks so close beneath 
the fun would be con- 
vincing. For the function 
of true humour is to hold 
the scales even between 
laughter and tears, and 
in many of the artist's studies of this phase 
of life one scarcely knows which emotion to 
yield to. Irresistibly quaint as is the idea 
of the small boy following the policeman in 
the hope of acquiring a fictitious notoriety, 
there is that behind it which provides a 
sobering tinge. 

The misadventures of women on the land 
have furnished pretexts for many a jest, but 
few have been so quietly droll as the sketch 
of the fair damsel patiently sitting on the 
head of her even more patient horse. " Per- 
haps you are, not heavy enough," suggests the 

I never done 


"Bool 'Go kissed 'er r and to l lie Kaiser larst time *3 
Yar ! Blooming Gfinqjlfial from 

***** be '** l^ERSlMfr fflrCfffijVtff Pu ^ m 



Stampa has not disappointed us. 
His contributions to the humours 
of life at the Front have been 
numerous, and he has borne an 
ample share in that tribute of our 
humorists to the unique spirit of 
the British soldier, which time will 
show to possess (being a revela- 
tion of national temper and 
characteristics) a far more than 
ephemeral interest. 

A typical drawing in this 
category is the one reproduced 
on the opposite page of the soldier 
who has been startled by the sud- 
den crowing of a rooster* *' You 
did gimme a jump ! " observes the 


■*Wot*s 5 e follerin' the copper for?" 

li ft's only 'is bloom in' side. J E wants 

people to fmk 'c's done somefink ! " 

KtprodHcai by the tp^v*l pvranijfiwn y/ tkt 
rtvprittorn */" Punch,' 

obliging acquaintance on the other 
side of the hedge , " I'll come and 
sit with you' 7 — and the artist 
achieves the acme of humorous 
art by not only amusing us with 
a mirthful situation actual and 
present, but intriguing our imagin- 
ations with a sequel equally comic 
and not less vividly brought before 
the eye, although tin -drawn. 

One expects a dry wit of this 
kind to find perpetual promptings 
in the wholly individual personality 
of Mr. Thomas Atkins, and Mr, 

** ElttLStO ! What's the matter ? " 

** I've been sitting on liis head for ever so long, and 
I thought they always did." 
** Perhaps you're not heavy enough, I'M curne and sil 

Rrprtnluttd by (he tptcinl )j*r)»u-t*fa* of the PntprUtart a/ " 

"Hi I Billy ! Lend iis yer 
skates ; you aint using "em I " 

lO ftnui >i ''>t. I*}/ th* ipetiai prrfitiiJuon iff 
the Prvprwivrt **f " hunch,'* 

perturbed warrior, 
oblivious of the more legiti- 
mate terrors around him. 
As a piece of circumlocu- 
tory humour, this d raw- 
ing is peculiarly British. 
To anyone of this country 
the inference is obvious, 
but one can imagine the 
foreigner poring over it in 
perplexity, and wondering 
where the joke comes in ! 

Realistically observed, as 
regards the principal cha- 
racter j is the sketch of the 
old lady unconcernedly 

with you," OriginafffelW^ the disastrous 

^^'NIVERSITyottfffil^r lU " £tarred 

he doesn't get up. 



passenger from a too - speedy 
omnibus. One knows those pre- 
cise old parties, their unfailing 
lack of humour, and certain 
instinct for the inappropriate 
moment. ' I think you've 
dropped a penny " is exactly 
what the dear old thing would 
say in the circumstances , and 
the sly touch of character gives 
flavour to our enjoyment of the 
ridiculous situation. 

Rather similar is the remark 
of the other hapless bus pas- 
senger who, with that singleness 
of mind which belongs to the 
really fatuous, improves the 
occasion of his own over-hurried 
exit by a few well-chosen words 
of warning. 

" Con- found you ! You did gimme a jump ! fi 
I etvroduced bf the. Mptdal permiuion of the Ftvpntlvrt $f *■ Punch." 

so amusingly depicted; but the characters, both 
in looks and deeds, are so true to type, and the 
situation is one which has so often inspired in 
the most sophisticated Londoner a whimsical 
perception of the thought that flashes through 
the countryman's mind, that one feels it could 
happen at any moment, 

Even when the principle is stretched rather far. 

« 1 f->— >/ 

Old Gentleman : " Don't you think you 
might hurt yourself doing that ? 

Small Boy (making frantic effort to itand 
on his head) : "Ycasir ; but— rnuvver — it>l<] 
me— to play at somefi nk — what don't wear 
my boolj out, " 

It is not enough that a comir aitist 
should be capaole of smelling out the 
humour of the situation under his very 
nose. He must have a prophetic eye 
— be alert, that is ? to foresee the 
humours which, under certain con- 
ditions, may arise. 

One doubts whether Mr. Stampa 

ever witnessed the diverting passage 

1 t 1 r * j Obsrrvant LaUY Qo.gentleniAn ahchung from bus 

between a London policeman and a ftink you've dropped a>i»iy ^ " 

bucolic visitor to town which he has R*v^uiribAiMMm$m*Hf^ 



Vass&s^er (suddenly t tn conductor) 
driver not to — jerk 
—the — bu s — w h en 
people are— going 
— up&taits. He'll 
cause — an accident 
— one of these 
days ! " 
JUpiW uttd bit thf iparftt 1 

pfi*U?r* of M Punch. " 

as in the case of 
the urchin 
who wants to 
borrow his com- 
panion's skates, 
the artist suc- 
ceeds in c o n- 
vincing us of 
the humorous 
" reality " of 
the scene by the 
imagina ti ve 
fidelity of his 

<( I wish — you'd — tell— your 

Countryman' (to policeman regulating traffic) : *' 
way, lad, Thou 'It be run over ! M 

Rtfrotfrrteil 6jf thl Jj'Tivu.f JVJ'HuWrm Of (fit' J fit} rwloi I o/ " 

hardly suspected of sharing 
a common humanity begin 
to appear very nearly 

We find it difficult, there- 
fore, to credit Mr. Stanipa's 
claim that the colloquy be- 
tween artist and editor 
which he illustrates is based 
upon persona] experience, 
11 Do you draw these things 
to amuse yourself ? " asks 
the occupant of the chair, 
examining with forbidding 
gaze the contents of his 
visitor's portfolio. " No/* 
replies the 
artist " Well, 
they d o n't 
amuse me 
cither," is the 
rejoinder. We 
leave it to 
readers who 
have glanced at 
the sketches on 
these pages to 
say whether 
this could have 
happened to 
Mr. Stampa— 
and have 
not the faintest 
doubt as to 
their verdict. 


out o 

■"Vi^cA. 1 " 

character- d r a wing. 
We know perfectly well that the 
thing never did happen, and never 
would happen, but we smilingly 
agree that it very well could happen, 
and enjoy the comfortable illusion 

To sum up, Mr. Stampa, like every 
true humorist , is a sound philo- 
sopher, and as such a welcome guide 
and friend. He takes us confidenti- 
ally by the arm and points out to 
us the manifold humours of human 
nature. He does it gently, easily, 
and with such a charming absence 
of malice that it begins to dawn 
upon us what excellent creatures 
our fellow- men arc. Under the 
artist's benevolently magic touch 
the deadliest of bores becomes 
almost companionable, and a 
number of people whom we had 

ruBLJsHfck (to humorous artist, who is just showing him some 
" side -splitters JJ ) ; " Are these humorous drawings ? ' 

Artist: "Ye.v — er ' 

Publisher : * ( You do them for amusement, I suppose ? " 

Artist : "Oh, no \ I - M 

Publisher : " Well f they don> amuse me, either ! " 


Punchard s Agency . 


Illustrated by A. Gilbert. 


ROBABLY Oliver Morton was 
right when he said that it was 
undignified. But what was I 
to do ? The average Artglo- 
Indian, retired on a pension 
at forty-five, is apt to expire 
of boredom before sixty ; 
owing to a bad attack of fever following a 
bad attack of fever, it became impossible for 
me to live in India, and I had to resign my 
post in the Indian Police at thirty-two. 
England restored my health, and with it 
returned my desire for an active life and an 
intense repugnance to being bored for want 
of an occupation. I tried chicken-farming. 
It was neither active nor life. I gave it up, 
was again at a loose end, and bored almost 
to tears, when I saw Punchard's advertise- 
ment in the Times asking for capital to start 
a private inquiry agency. 

I admit that the opening at once appealed 
strongly to me. I had been uncommonly 
keen on my work in India ; and I had rather 
a gift for it. But I did not rush into the 
opening. I considered it all day and slept 
on it. Next morning I found that I had 
made up my mind that it was the very thing 
for me ; and after breakfast and a cigar I 
took a taxi to 3, Hypatia Villas, Camden 
Town, Punchard's home. There was a thriving 
rubber-plant in the drawing-room. 

Punchard came to me, and I saw that we 
could work together. He was of middle height, 
thick-set, and broad. He had a good chin, 
a good forehead, and deeply-set, keen eyes. 
His expression was cheerful : an important 
point indeed in a man with whom you pro- 
pose to work. He was plainly honest ; and 
any private inquiry agency that he managed 
would not make the bulk of its profits out of 
blackmail. He seemed, on his part, to approve 
of me. 
When I found that he had his plans cut 

Copyright, 1917, 

and dried and, as the Americans say, care- 
fully figured out, I was assured of his busi- 
ness capacity, and agreed to join him. The 
negotiations between our lawyers were con- 
cluded in three days ; the agency was settled 
in a suite of small offices in Henrietta Street, 
Covent Garden, in ten days ; and before the 
fortnight was out we were at work. 

In the bulk of the work, obtaining evidence 
which should lead to judicial or complete 
separations, searching for missing husbands, 
wives, sons, or daughters, I took little active 
part. I managed the office when Punchard 
was away, received the reports of our assis- 
tants, directed their activities, and when he 
was at the office acted as consultant. Inclina- 
tion and interest made us reject cases which 
seemed to us shady ; and I could see nothing 
to be ashamed of in our work. For the most 
part we fulfilled the functions of a private 
and supernumerary police. 

The first case in which I took an active 
personal part was the affair of Lord Spans- 
wick's stolen tube of radium. 

I should in any case have handled it ; but 
as it chanced Punchard was away in the 
North, I was in charge of the office, and 
Lord Spanswick was brought straight to me. 

He is, of course, a well-known man, or, to 
be exact, a well-known dabbler, and by no 
means a fortunate dabbler. As a prominent 
member of the Geographical Society he had 
accepted with enthusiasm the claim of Dr. 
Cook to be the first man to have reached the 
North Pole. As a dabbler in medical research 
he had accepted, with equal enthusiasm, 
Professor Koch's claim to have discovered an 
infallible cure for consumption. As a dabbler 
in finance he had contrived to become a 
director of Ural Bonanzas, a wild-cat com- 
pany, the unhappy shareholders of which, 
after much inflation and deflation of their 
shares, had found themselves the sole, if 

by Edgar Jej>;o.iV ERb 





unenvied, lessees of some hundreds of acres 
of unproductive rock within less than a 
thousand feet of the highest peak of the 
second highest mountain in the range. I 
knew him by name— well. 

He shambled into the office with a helpless, 
flustered air ; and I had a strong impression 
that an amiable and unusually intelligent 
sheep had entered, though a real sheep could 
not have been disfigured by an incredibly 
sandy beard. His eyes were of a pale blue, 
his mouth was large, his lips were loose, 
his sandy hair was sparse t and he had the 
chin of an eagle. 

I was not surprised that he was a long 
time coming to the point ; but it would have 
been unkind, as well as useless, to try to 
hurry him. At last I learned that he had 
been dabbling in research into radio-activity, 
had bought a tube of radium for five thousand 
pounds for that purpose, kept it, out of 
research hours, in a safe along with the 
Spanswick jewels, and that that tube of 
radium had been stolen two days before. 
He had been for putting the matter into 
the hands of the police at once ; but Lady 

Spanswick 's suspicion that it had been stolen 
by someone in the castle had rendered that 
course impossible. He did not for a moment 
agree with her ; he was convinced that every- 
one in the castle was above suspicion and 
that it was the work of a burglar ; but there 
it was, and the police were out of the question. 

I ought to have been merely irritated by 
such a monster of incapacity ; but I was 
sorry for him. He was the heaven-born dupe ; 
plainly gold bricks new to him as steel filings 
fly to a magnet ; he needed a keeper, or rather 
nursemaid ; but he was a gentleman. 

It tli.>esir< look like the work of a burglar/' 
T said. lt A burglar would surely have stolen 
the jewels, for there aren't a dozen people in 
Europe or America to whom you could sell a 
five- thou sand-pound tube of radium ; and 
all of them would want to know where it 
came from. You rrjght as well steal a white 

He looked at me earnestly as if he were 
pondering my words, then frowned unhappily, 
and said, gravely: dl I cannot agree with you, 
Mr, Flexen, (^^jbtfj^ffil^Rhantj or indeed a 




conceal ; and also there would be the further 
difficulty of feeding it. If I were — er — er— 
er — addicted to theft — which I am not — I 
should much prefer to steal a tube of radium." 

" There is that/' I said, patiently. 

We were both silent while I considered the 

" Well, the sooner I come to Spanswick 
Castle the better/' I said. " As it is, too 
much time has been lost. I suppose that 
there is a village with an inn near it ? " 

" I — I'm afraid I should not like that. 
I — I haven't told anyone there that the tube 
of radium has been stolen, except, of course, 
my assistant in my work. Lady Spanswick 
said that it would make unpleasantness and 
spoil her house- party. Your visits and 
investigations would be very difficult to 
explain. My nephew, Oliver Morton, who 
advised me to come to you, suggested that 
you could quite w^ll visit the castle as 
my guest— a scientific inquirer of — er — er — 
kindred tastes, if you like — and so your 
presence would not excite attention. I want 
the radium recovered, of course ; but it is 
essential — er 1 — quite essential that it should 
be recovered without any — er — er — fuss or 

It was indeed an excellent suggestion, for 
I saw at once that I could take one of our 
assistants as m^ valet, and he could deal 
with the servants much better than I could. 
I did not think it possible that a servant 
should have stolen the radium ; but it must 
be made sure. I accepted the invitation. 

The matter of my fees was soon settled. 
Lord Spanswick offered to pay me our ex- 
penses and two hundred and fifty pounds, 
five per cent, of the value of the radium, when 
I recovered it. Too much time had already 
been lost ; and I arranged to meet him at 
Paddington at two-thirty and go down with 
him to Spanswick Castle. I instructed one 
of our assistants, an intelligent, middle-aged 
man of the name of Forbes, to be at the 
station at that hour, with his clothes, to act 
as my valet. He had been a footman in his 
youth, and would therefore be at home 
imong the servants. Then I gave the instruc- 
tions which would carry on the office till 
Punchard's return, lunched, went to my flat 
in Charing Cross Mansions, packed my clothes, 
reached Paddington at two-twenty-eight, 
handed over my luggage to Forbes, and took 
our tickets. 

TV "> train started at two-thirty-five. At 
two-thirty-£our-fifty Lord Spanswick was 
brought on to the platform in a flustered 
condition by a harried-looking servant, who 

said in a tone of resignation that he would 
bring the luggage down by the next train. 

I had hoped to have spent the journey 
discussing the matter of the stolen radium. 
But Morton had told Lord Spanswick that 
I had been in the Indian Police ; and instead 
we discussed the psychology of the European 
and Oriental criminal. In the course of the 
discussion Lord SpansWick told me, with a 
modest enough air, that as soon as he had 
finished his researches into the matter of 
radio-activity he had hopes of revolutionizing 
the science of criminology, and had already 
put in a little ground-work by the personal 
study of a criminal who lived in great style 
at the Paragon Hotel and was known to the 
police as Smarmy Sam. 

To my relief, a careful cross-examination 
assured me that Smarmy Sam had merely 
mulcted Lord Spanswick of twenty pounds, 
had never visited Spanswick Castle, and did 
hot know that he had owned a tube of radium. 

We decided that the fact that I had been 
in the Indian Police should not be disclosed. 

We reached Jthe castle at half-past four. 
It was a picturesque, if mixed, building, since 
it had^been begun in the reign of Edward III., 
had been enlarged by comfortable additions in 
the reigns of Queen Elizabeth, James II., and 
Queen Anne, and finished in the reign of 
George III. It stood on the crest of a ridge 
some four hundred feet above the level of 
the sea, and enjoyed admirable views from 
back and front over broad valleys. It was 
plainly a charming place to visit. 

We found Lady Spanswick and her guests 
having tea in the vaulted hall of the old 
castle, so that I lost no time in making their 
acquaintance. From the criminal point of 
view, they were not promising. Sir Frederick 
Polin, the famous gout specialist, did not 
need radium in his beneficent work ; Lord 
and Lady Duckwater were, I knew, far too 
rich to steal it ; Mrs. Acheson, a young and 
flaccid widow, and Reginald Fairclough, Lord 
Spanswick's only, but stolid, son, would 
plainly have made a hopeless mess of stealing 
even apples. Miss Fearn was far too pretty 
to steal. The only promising member of the 
gathering was the famous K.C., William 
Sturge-Tebbutt, known, strictly among them- 
selves, to His Majesty's judges as Blustery Bill. 

Mr. Sturge-Tebbutt should not have been 
in any need of a five-thousand-pound tube 
of radium, for he was making at least ten 
thousand a year at the criminal Bar. But a 
man's needs are not regulated by his income, 
but by his tastes * and it was common know- 

t^^KMM tu ^ Tebbutt 

ledge tha 



were of the most expensive kind. To the eye, 
moreover, he was of the genuine predatory 
type: a big, hard-eyed, thin-lipped, heavy- 
jowled man, with a vulturine nose. Yes ; he 
was undoubtedly promising. 

Kind Fortune had given me a comfortable 
chair beside Miss Fearn, by far the most 
attractive person in the gathering. She was 
certainly charming to the eye : she had the 
most beautiful dark brown eyes I had ever 
seen ; her skin was of a clearness, almost 
luminous, very rare in dark people ; and her 
dark brown hair was so soft and silken that 
one was sorely tempted to stroke it. I set 
about making the best of my position with 
considerable and, in me, unwonted earnest- 
ness. 1 found her pleasant and sympathetic, 
and as intelligent as her broad forehead 
promised. We were a little apart from the 
others ; and though she seemed a favourite 
and there were interruptions, I had her very 
much to myself, and before tea was over we 
were on the way to establish the fact that, 
for the most part, we liked the same things. 
I enjoyed my tea. 

After tea I went with Lord Spanswick 
ostensibly to see his laboratory. We did see 
it; he must show it me before he took me 
to the scene of the theft, for it was the apple 
of his eye. It was the last word in labora- 
tories. There I made the acquaintance of 
his assistant in his researches, a somewhat 
gloomy, aggressive, hard-headed young man 
from Lancashire, of the name of Gregson, 
plainly an enthusiast in the matter of radio- 
activity, for he set Lord Spanswick right in 
his accounts of the experiments which had 
been cut short by the loss of the tube of 
radium, with a quite remarkable brusqueness. 

He set me wondering. Scrupulousness is 
not an unfailing attribute of scientific 
enthusiasts. Considering that the tube of 
radium would be far more effective in his 
own unhampered hands, he might have felt 
it his duty to acquire it. 

As we came away from the laboratory, I 
said to Lord Spanswick : " What do you 
know about Mr. Gregson ? What's his 
record ? " 

He looked at me in his slow-witted way 
for twenty seconds, and then said with a 
deeply -pained air: "Gregson is above 
suspicion. He's an enthusiast — a genuine 
enthusiast. Why, when I told him that the 
radium had been stolen he was quite rude to 
me, almost violent, indeed. Of course, he 
apologized as soon as he grew calm ; and I 
overlooked it — an enthusiast, you know. But 
he has been depressed ever since. " 

It sounded satisfactory ; but I decided 
that the worthy young fellow would bear 

At last we came to the scene of the crime, 
Lord Spanswick's study. It was the third 
of a series of four rooms. First was his bed- 
room, second his dressing-room, then his 
study, and last a small library of scientific 
books. As we came into the study, a stout 
man, working at a desk before the window, 
rose, and Lord Spanswick said : " That will 
do for to-day, Mr. Roff." 

I had plenty of time to examine him as he 
put away his papers ; and I have rarely seen 
a more shifty-looking person. The broad 
expanse of his flabby face made his eyes 
appear closer together than Nature had really 
set them ; and though he kept casting 
curious glances at me, they never once looked 
into mine. 

When the door closed behind him, I said : 
" Who is Mr. Roff ? What's his record ? " 

" Oh, Roff is above suspicion ! " said Lord 
Spanswick, quickly. " He's my secretary, 
and really manages all my property. He's 
invaluable ; he relieves me from all trouble 
about it and leaves me free for more important 
matters. Besides, he did me a great service — 
a great service. He was secretary of the Ural 
Bonanzas Company, of which I was a director, 
and, thanks to his information and advice, I 
resigned my seat on the board and got rid 
of my holdings more than three months before 
the crash and the scandal came. He's quite 
above suspicion, Roff — the soul of honesty." 

If he was, his face belied his soul. I con- 
sidered him quite as promising as Sturge- 

But all I said was : " And now for the 

It stood in the left-hand corner of the 
room, covered by red velvet curtains. Lord 
Spanswick had still the four keys which had 
come with it from the makers. One he carried 
with his other keys ; the other three, neatly 
labelled " Keys of Safe/' were in the top 
drawer of an open Chippendale bureau in the 
opposite corner of the room. I learned that 
that bureau was seldom locked, and that he 
often left his bunch of keys lying on the table 
in his dressing-room. It was cheerful hearing. 
He opened the safe and showed me where the 
tube had lain on the shelf. It had been 
the first thing on which the eye fell when the 
safe was opened. He was quite clear about 
that. He was more vague about the si?c of 
the ebony box, closed by a strong spring, in 
which, enclosed in an air-tight 'lead case, the 
tube had heen kept ; but I gathered that it 




was about seven inches long and two inches 
broad and deep, an uncommonly easy object 
to conceal. 

Then I questioned him about the people 
who, to his knowledge, had been in his study 
on the evening of the day he had put the 
radium back in the safe, and on the morning 
of the day on which he had missed it. Roff 
had, of course, been in it for some three 
hours ; Gregson had passed through it on his 
way to the library, where he had done an 
hour's reading after the laboratory had been 
closed for the day ; Tugwell, his valet, had 
been in the dressing-room in both the evening 
and the morning. Moreover, his guests often 
came to look for him in his study. 

I asked him whether anyone else had used 
the library ; and by some fortunate chance 
he remembered that Sturge-Tebbutt, who 
always went to bed two hours after anyone 
else, had gone to the library, when the rest 
of the party went to bed, to read a new 
American treatise on criminology. 

I asked if he had locked the bureau that 
night. He had not. On finding the tube of 
radium gone, he had at once opened the 
drawer in the bureau to see if the spare keys 
of the safe were still in it, and remembered 
that the bureau had not been locked. 

I asked him whether Sturge-Tebbutt had 
ever seen the tube of radium in its ebony 
box. He told me that all his guests had 
seen it. He had shown it to them three 
nights before its disappearance, and made a 
simple experiment or two, to entertain them. 

I did not suggest that he had probably 
drawn the thief's attention to it, or assure 
him that the cleverest accomplice could 
hardly have made the theft easier than he 
had done. I only said frankly that it was 
my opinion that his theory that the radium 
had been stolen by a burglar was untenable, 
and that the recovery of it promised to be a 
long, difficult, and expensive business. 

He expressed a pleasing confidence in my 
powers and bade me set about it. 

I had but the faintest hope of discovering 
the thief at Spanswick itself. It was wholly 
unlikely that I should find any evidence of 
the actual theft, since, in the circumstances, 
the thief would have to go out of his way to 
furnish it. My chance would come when he 
set about selling the radium. If he were 
wise, he would sit on it, metaphorically, for 
four or five years, to allow Lord Spanswick 
time to forget its very existence. My hope 
was that it had been stolen by someone who 
needed the money much sooner than that. 

At the same time, there was work to be ; 

done at the castle. I had to sift out of the 
dwellers in it the two or three who should 
be watched: Sturge-Tebbutt and Roff and 
Gregson, and any of the servants Forbes 
might select. I instructed the office to inform 
the firms who dealt in radium that between 
four and five thousand pounds' worth had 
been stolen, and to invite them to inform us 
should anyone try to sell any quantity for the 
possession of which they could not account. 
That fairly spoiled the thief's prospect of 
selling it in England. 

I made it my business to try to discover the 
financial position of Lord Spanswick's guests. 
The castle was by far the most pleasant place 
in which I had ever investigated a crime. In 
the morning I accompanied my flock to the 
golf-links. We made up two foursomes and 
played two rounds before lunch. I always 
contrived to play in the same foursome as 
Miss Fearn ; and by the third day I had 
rather attached myself to her, carrying her 
clubs to and from the links, walking with her 
when we strolled in the gardens after dinner, 
and cutting into the rubber in which she was 
playing in the afternoon and evening. She 
made the castle a yet more pleasant place 
to stay at, for she was not only a perpetual 
delight to the eye, but also a pleasant and 
.stimulating companion, with an odd vein of 
cynicism running through her talk which 
gave it a rather astonishing piquancy. 

The hour after breakfast and the hour 
after lunch I spent in the laboratory, or in 
Lord Spanswick's study, cultivating the 
acquaintance of Gregson and Roff. The latter 
was the easier to cultivate, since he found the 
castle dull. The evening, or rather the night, 
I devoted to Sturge-Tebbutt. Dinner was 
over by nine ; we strolled in the gardens for 
some twenty minutes, and then settled down to 
bridge — auction bridge, of course — till about 
half-past eleven. Sturge-Tebbutt could not 
bring himself to go to bed so early, and was 
pleased to find someone to share his vigil. 
He was an interesting talker on a dozen 
subjects, and was often witty and amusing 
with a jovial brutality — especially on such 
subjects as women, His Majesty's judges, and 
the prominent politicians of his acquaintance. 
He was restrained enough, even suave, in his 
talk the first two evenings ; then he grew 
frank and displayed freely his superman's 
outlook on life. The outlook on life of an 
intelligent wolf must be uncommonly like it. 
Nothing amused Ivm better than to rouse my 
impatient disgust ; it made him laugh heartily. 

But I found him not OTiJy quite interesting, 
but amazingly intelligent ; and I hoped 



heartily that he had not stolen the radium, 
since, if he had* my chance of recovering it 
was small indeed. He would make no slip 
in selling it ; and he made no secret of the 
fact that he did not lose sight of many of the 
really able criminals whom he had so hardily 
snatched from the clutches of the law. He 
had his pick of the fences of England ; and I 
took it that he would oblige at least four of 
them with equal shares of the radium at a 
good price. It was the obvious way of dis- 
posing of it. 

I was really hoping against hope that he 
had not stolen it, for if a tube of radium 
came his way easily I could not see him 
keeping his hands off it ; and that tube had 
come his way easily indeed. 

I saw to it that the skilful Forbes 
searched his bedroom and his portmanteaux ; 
but he did not find the radium. I ' had 
not entertained the smallest hope that he 

While Sturge-Tebbutt and I were somewhat 
intimate acquaintances at night, during the 
day we were rather rivals, for he too found 

Marv Fearn verv attractive, and did his best 

* * * 

to keep her to himself. Fortunately and 
naturally she disliked him, so that I had 
rather the better of it. She showed a pleasing 
and praiseworthy firmness of character, hardly- 
to be expected in so pretty and charming a 
creature, in keeping him at a distance. 

Then, as was natural in him, he tried to 
impair my liking for her. He told me, not 
at my asking, that she was penniless, since 
her father, Colonel Fearn, had been a friend 
of Lord Spanswick, had been enthusiastically 
guided by him into Ural Bonanzas, and lost 
nearly all his money in that swindle. She 
subsisted, therefore, on her winnings at 
auction — she was, indeed, a fine player — and 
on the credit she enjoyed from staying always 
at good houses. 

He ended by saying : " You've only got 
to notice the letters she gets. Four out of 
five are bills." 

He laughed unpleasantly. ""* 

He had not impaired my liking for her at 
all. But it was distressing information, and 
I was very sorry for her; a smooth and joyous 
path through life was so plainly her mere due. 
Moreover, I admired the spirit with which 
she bore herself in these difficulties. At the 
same time it was disquieting information. 
I was compelled, reluctantly enough, to add 
her name to the list of those who must be 
watched. It was my plain duty to Lord 
Spanswick. Besides, I am not one of those 
lucky investigators of crime whom the long 

arm of coincidence never fails ; I am com- 
pelled to omit no precaution. 

At the end of the week Forbes reported that 
he could find no reason to suspect any of the 

I had asked Lord Spanswick to tell me at 
once if either Roff or Gregson asked for a day's 
holiday. Two nights later he informed me 
that he had given Roff leave to go to London 
on the morrow. Accordingly Forbes wired 
to the office to meet him at Paddington ; 
accompanied Roff to London ; pointed him 
out to the assistant awaiting them, bought 
me some tobacco, and returned to Spanswick. 
Roff returned on the following afternoon, 
looking refreshed. The office reported that he 
had spent the day and night in a round of 
the simple pleasures which, doubtless, most 
appealed to him. 

I had, naturally, observed Mary Fearn's 
letters, and found that Sturge-Tebbutt had 
been right in saying that four out of five 
of them seemed to be bills. She appeared, 
moreover, to regard them with equanimity. 
Certainly they did not spoil her appetite. It 
was a relief to me to see it. 

I knew now the reasons of the cynicism, 
apparently so inappropriate in her, which she 
sometimes displayed. There was little doubt 
that the loss of her father's money had 
revealed the shallowness of several friendships 
she had enjoyed. I fancy that my attitude 
to her became somewhat protective. 

It became uncommonly protective for a 
few minutes on the morning after Rolf's 
return. I had spent my hour with him and 
Gregson, and had heard Gregson ask Lord 
Spanswick, with an obviously unfeigned testi- 
ness, when they were going to have some 
radium again. I left them, learnt from the 
butler that Mary Fearn was out in the gardens, 
and from one of the gardeners that she was 
walking along the path by the lake, as 
they call the big pool at the end of the 
gardens, with Sturge-Tebbutt. I walked 
briskly to find them, for I did not consider 
him at all a nice companion for her. I 
was right. 

The path by the lake is thickly turfed, and 
I went along it noiselessly. I had gone about 
fifty yards down it, when I heard Mary Fearn 
cry out. 

I sprinted, came round the corner of the 
path* and found her struggling with Sturge- 
Tebbutt, who was trying to kiss her. I did 
not say anything ; I went for him. He saw 
me, loosed her. and hit out. I dodged, closed, 
gripped him, and bv a simple Indian wrestler's 

WfewS'Sieffi&M shou,der int0 thc 


2 8 7 



Original from " 




lake. The bank was five feet high ; and he 
went into the water with a splendid splash. 

Mary Fearn gazed at me with her eyes wide 
open, and said, softly : " Goodness ! " 

" A little lesson for a big cad/' said I. 

We watched him gain the bank and climb 
it about ten yards up the path ; and I made 
ready for another tussle. I had thoughts of 
going in with him this time and throttling 
him a little under the water. It is most 

But he merely shook himself like a wet 
dog, glared at me, said: " Stringy brute ! " 
and walked off down the path to the house 
with a quite dignified air. 

Mary Fearn laid her hand on my arm, 
looked into my eyes, and said : " I'm so 
much obliged to you." 

I had never seen her eyes so beautiful ; and 
I was so sorely tempted to imitate the mis- 
behaviour of Sturge-Tebbutt that I said: 
41 Not at all," quite breathlessly. 

We turned and walked towards the house 
in silence ; then she cried : — 

" It's a horrid shame ! That cad would 
never have dreamt of doing such a thing 
when my father was alive and we had plenty 
of money." 

" I think you overrate Mr. Sturge-Tebbutt's 
self-restraint," I said, quietly. 

41 You don't know what a duTerence it 
makes in the way all kinds of people treat 
you — having no money," she said, mourn- 

"I'm afraid it does," I said, sympatheti- 

I was not surprised that Sturge-Tebbutt 
did not invent some excuse to withdraw him- 
self with delicacy from the castle ; but I was 
surprised that he showed no rancour towards 
me. That night he talked to me with his 
usual frank familiarity. He had the sense 
not to speak of Mary Fearn. 

The pleasant days passed in the same 
round, and at the end of a fortnight the party 
broke up. I had made very little progress 
towards discovering the radium. I had not 
even been able to eliminate any of the four 
people who might possibly have it — Sturge- 
Tebbutt, Ro3, Gregson, and Mary Fearn. I 
had very little doubt that neither Mary Fearn 
nor Gregson had it ; I did not believe that 
RoT had it ; I believed that Sturge-Tebbutt 
was the criminal. The problem was to 
recover it from him. 

But I did not neglect the others. I arranged 
with Lord Spans wick that he should wire the 
office if either Rotf or Gregson came to 
London, that they might be met and watched. 

I had already arranged that Sturge-Tebbutt 
and Mary Fearn should be met and watched. 
It was an uncommonly unpleasant duty to 
have her watched ; but, after all, it would be 
much better for her, if she had the tube of 
radium, that I should be the person to know 
it; she might get into serious trouble if she 
tried to sell it. 

It made it the more unpleasant that we 
were now on the friendliest terms. We 
travelled back to town together ; and I drove 
her and her dour-looking maid to her flat at 
Grandcourt Mansions, in the Charing Cross 
Road. We were neighbours. It was a cheap 
flat, on the sixth floor, but there were some 
beautiful things in it, heirlooms doubtless. 
As we were smoking after tea, I rose and 
examined two jade figures on the mantelpiece 
and admired them. 

She waved her hand round the room, and 
said : " These things belonged legally to my 
father's creditors, the rogues ! They did not 
get them." 

She smiled with a quiet, vengeful triumph. 

That night she dined with jne at a quiet 
restaurant ; and we agreed to dine there 
every night when we were both disengaged. 
With a firm independence, she insisted on 
paying for her own dinners. She was indeed 
a stimulating companion ; I could never 
decide whether she was not more clever than 
charming. But I found her outbursts of 
cynicism, natural as they were, rather dis- 

Sturge-Tebbutt had asked me to go to his 
rooms in Temple Gardens about ten any 
night I felt inclined to smoke and talk. I 
went the next night. I could not feel any 
compunction whatever about accepting his 
hospitality with a view to recovering from 
him the stolen radium. He prevented any 
such feeling. 

He welcomed me cheerfully, and we smoked 
and talked till nearly one o'clock. He said 
nothing whatever to permit me to infer that 
he had not stolen the radium and anything 
else of value which had come his way. There 
was a safe beside his desk ; the brown silk 
curtains which usually hid it were half-drawn. 
I should have liked to examine that safe. 

Three nights later I did. It seemed that 
he collected intaglios and kept them in it. 
He showed them to me. As he took out one 
small tray of them, he said, with a grin: 
" From a grateful client. I wonder where 
he got them from ? " 

As he put it back I looked over his shoulder 
into the safe On the top shelf were four 

^I^ffifr^F'SMiS!^ of them was a 



small packet, wrapped in brown paper and 
sealed, about six inches long and two inches 
thick. My heart gave quite a jump. 

I did not go to see him the next night. 
But the night after, having taken Mary 
Fearn home after dinner, I went back to my 
flat, filled a shaving-soap tin with pebbles 
to make it the right weight, wrapped it in 
brown paper, and sealed it. I put it m the 
outside right pocket of my jacket, and went 
to see Sturge-Tebbutt. I was pleased to find 
him at home. 

We talked for awhile. Then I said that I 
should like to see his intaglios again. He 
was ready enough to show them to me ; and 
we stood by the open safe examining and 
discussing them. I was thorough in my 
examination of each tray, till I got my chance. 
It came as I had expected : his pipe went out, 
and he went to the fireplace to knock the 
ashes out of it. I was holding a tray of 
rings and could only use one hand ; but I 
had changed the packets before he had 
reached the fireplace. I noticed that I had 
over-estimated the weight of the leaden case 
which held the radium, and made my packet 
far too heavy. When he turned, I was 
holding the tray with both hands. I ex- 
amined the rest of the intaglios with the 
same thoroughness. I acquired a consider- 
able knowledge of them. 

After he had put them away, I smoked 
another pipe and then said that I must be 
going. He protested that it was early ; but 
I said that I had a headache, which was true, 
and that I should sleep better for a walk 
before going to bed. 

I only walked as far as the Agency, let 
myself in, and, going to my inner office, sat 
down at my desk to examine my find. 

The packet was certainly not as heavy as 
I expected. I broke the seals, unwrapped 
the paper, and could hardly believe my eyes. 
I had uncovered a shaving-soap tin, a replica 
of the one I had left in Sturge-Tebbutt's safe. 
I opened it with fumbling fingers, and I fancy 
that there was a blank look on my face. It 
contained a small wash-leather bag ; and 
out of it I poured nine uncut diamonds of 
about the size of buck-shot on to my desk. 

I stared at them, expressing my emotion 
with quiet fervour. 

I was quick in deciding on my course of 
action. I put the diamonds into the bag, 
the bag into the tin, refolded and resealed 
the brown paper, addressed it to its owner, 
put stamps on it, walked briskly out of the 
office, and up into Long Acre. There I took 
a taxi to EarPs Court Station, walked through 

• Vol I'm. -20. 

it, and slipped the packet into the first pillar- 
box I came upon, about fourteen minutes 
after I had opened it and five minutes before 
the pillar-box was cleared for the night. 

I walked up into Kensington High Street 
and took a taxi to Piccadilly Circus, feeling 
relieved. From the Circus I walked to my 

I declare that when I came up the stairs, 
to find Sturge-Tebbutt hammering furiously 
at my door, I was not surprised. I could not 
be surprised again that night. 

I came up to him while he was still 
hammering away. 

" Halloa ! " I said, cheerfully. " What's 
the row ? " 

He turned on me, panting and furious. 
" My diamonds ! " he cried. " Give me back 
my diamonds ! " 

" What on earth are you talking about ? " 
I said, calmly. 

" My diamonds ! Nine uncut diamonds in 
a shaving-soap tin ! You've got them ! 
Hand them over ! " he howled. 

" Did you finish the bottle of whisky ? 
Or have you gone mad ? I didn't even know 
you had any diamonds. Come in and search 
me, if you like/* I said, cheerfully, pushing 
him gently aside, opening the door, and 

He followed me in, murmuring : " You 
must have them. I only put them in a day 
or two ago ; and you're the only person who 
has been in my study when the safe was open 

I switched on the electric light and looked 
at him. He did look shaken. His face was 
a blackish purple with emotion. 

" You'd better have a drink," I said, going 
to the side-table on which the whisky and 
soda stood. " But watch and see that I 
don't slip the shaving-soap tin into the 
whisky decanter." 

I mixed him a stiff peg, turned to hand it 
to him, and saw that I had shaken his firm 
conviction. He was looking at me with 
doubting eyes. 

I handed the glass to him, and said : " If 
I weren't sure that you were mad, I'd throw 
you down the stairs for being offensive. What 
diamonds were they ? " 

He took a big gulp of the whisky and soda, 
and, still panting with emotion, said : — 

" Nine. I — I'm taking — c-c-are of them — 
for the wife of a friend." 

" Rats ! " I said, sharply. " If your friend's 
wife's name isn't William Sturge-Tebbutt, 
what I will eat is my hat ! You said they 





by Google 

Original from 



" Yes," he said ; and finished the whisky 
and soda. 

" Then I'll bet that they were a gift from 
another grateful client ; and he's got the 
better of his gratitude and recovered them/' 
I said. " What were they worth ? " 

" Seven hundred at least." 

" Seven hundred ! You've been making all 
this fuss, waking all my neighbours, accusing 
me of theft, for diamonds worth seven 
hundred ! I thought they must be worth 
ten thousand ! This is a bit too thick ! 
Clear out ! " I cried, and bustled to the door 
and opened it wide. 

That seemed to convince him ; he murmured 
that it wasn't their value, that he had been 
in such a rage at having been tricked. 

" Well, get along. Get along to Scotland 
Yard," I said, in a far-from-appeased tone. 

He got along, mumbling an apology as he 

I had brought off my bluff; and it was 
some compensation for the disappointment 
of the packet. But Sturge-Tebbutt would 
never go to Scotland Yard. Grateful clients 
are all very well ; but there are also clients 
who pay in kind. As for his working out the 
times and distances when he received the 
packet with* ail Earl's Court postmark on it 
next morning, I did not think that he could* 
I had certainly been very quick. Not that I . 
cared whether he again suspected me or 

I awoke next morning as far from the 
solution of the problem of the tube of radium 
as ever. I was somewhat gloomy. 

I was not cheered by the fresh light thrown 
on it that morning in the report of Miss 
Glossop, who was watching Mary Fearn* 
One paragraph ran : — 

" Took taxicab at two-thirty to Royal 
College of Science. Spent ten minutes with 
the Professor of Chemistry." 

I tried to think of some other reason why 
Mary Fearn should spend ten minutes with 
a Professor of Chemistry : the tube of radium 
stuck firmly in my mind. 

There was no help for it : I took a taxi to 
the Royal College of Science. 

I had some difficulty in obtaining an inter- 
view with the Professor. At last I obtained 
two minutes at the end of the lecture he was 
giving. I apologized briefly for troubling 
him, and asked him if he could put me in the 
way of selling a tube of radium. 

He eyed me gloomily, and said : "I seem 
to be becoming a radium exchange. Only 
yesterday a young lady came to ask me 
where a friend ot hers could sell a tube of 

radium which had been left him by an uncle — 
a Norwegian professor. I didn't know that 
any Norwegian professor had possessed a 
tube of radium ; and I obtained a perfect 
exhibition of feminine vagueness. She thought 
that Stockholm was the capital of Norway." 

" Really, I'm awfully sorry to have bothered 
you. I didn't know that Miss Fearn had been 
here herself. Good morning," I said, making 
for the door. 

" Oh, her name is Fearn, is it ? " said the 
Professor. " Well, she knows what to do." 

The devil she did ! 

I drove back to the office in a bad temper. 
I was angry with Mary Fearn. She had 
placed me in an intolerable position. Here 
was I, arranging to have her flat searched in 
the morning and dining with her in the 
evening. Well, it had to be done ; and after 
all, it was to her advantage to be deprived 
of the radium before she should land herself 
in some hopeless hole in her efforts to sell it* 
Punchard undertook to search the flat him- 

I was, naturally, somewhat like a bear with 
a sore head at dinner that evening. Mary 
Fearn seemed somewhat distressed by it, and 
did her best to soothe and cheer me. In 
the end it grew yet clearer to me that I 
was acting in her best interests; and 
I was cheered. 

From Miss Glossop's reports I gathered 
that Mary Fearn was making no attempt to 
sell the radium by interview, whatever she 
might be doing by post. Three nights later 
Punchard took advantage of her dour-looking 
maid being out for the evening to search her 
flat. He did not find the tube of radium. 

I was, indeed, vexed by his failure. I had 
grown uncommonly anxious to have her out 
of danger ; in fact, I was badly worried about 
her. I still believed also that the tube of 
radium was in the flat. I could trust her 
intelligence to hide it well. I was restless, 
and I went round to tea with her to make 
sure that no harm had yet befallen her, and 
to suggest a music-hall that evening. Her 
maid showed me into her sitting-room, and 
said that her mistress was dressing. 

I sat down and gazed gloomily, but keenly, 
round the room. I might by some lucky 
chance hit on the hiding-place Punchard had 
missed. The room was very well kept and 
uncommonly tidy, except for a dingy old silk 
vanity-bag, half hidden under a cushion on 
the couch. It was such a shabby object that 
it was quite out of keeping with the room ; 
and twice I looked at it with some distaste. 
Then the idea came, startling. I crossed the 




room, opened the bag, and thrust my hand 
into it. It was empty ; but my knuckle 
struck against something liard. There was 
a lump in the lining. 

I slit the lining with my penknife and took 
out a small oblong box wrapped in tissue- 
paper. I thrust it into my pocket, replaced 
the bag, and sat down again as the door 
opened and Mary Fearn came in. 

I was on tenter-hooks during that tea ; 
but I do not think that I showed it. 

As I came down the stairs I took my find 
from my pocket and examined it. It was the 
tube of radium. 

I ought to have been horrified. I was not. 
If any girl but Mary Fearn had stolen it, I 
should doubtless have been horrified. As it 
was I was only annoyed, very much annoyed. 

I went quickly to the office and sent off 
Forbes to Spanswick with the radium. Then 
I went to the Stores at the top of Bedford 
Street, bought the prettiest vanity-bag they 
had, and returned to Mary Fearn's flat, still 
in a very bad temper. 

When her maid ushered me into her sitting- 
room I found her sitting before the grate, 
gazing into the fire. She turned and looked 
at me with some surprise. 

II Sorry to disturb you," I said, coldly. 
" But I made rather a mess of your vanity- 
bag, getting that tube of radium out of it ; 
and I've brought you another in its place." 

I held it out to her. 

She sprang to her feet and stared at me 

with wide-open eyes and parted lips, as my 
words sank into her understanding. 

Then she burst into tears, and cried : — 

" But it was mine ! It was mine ! " 

" Yours ? » I said. 

" Yes, mine. Lord Spanswick let my 
father in for forty thousand pounds — in 
Ural Bonanzas. That radium was some of 
it back." 

" That isn't at all the view the police 
would have taken of the matter, if you'd been 
caught trying to sell it," I said, rather 

" I don't care ! It — was mine," she sobbed. 
Then she wailed : " And I know dad will 
never — rest in his grave — t-t-till I'm properly 
—provided for. It was that — that broke— 
his heart." 

" But, good heavens ! he'd never want 
you to provide for yourself by — by st — in 
this way ! " I cried. 

" What does it matter how I'm provided 
for — as long as he's happy ? " she sobbed. 

I stared at her quite stupidly. What could 
one say ? It would never do to ask her to 
marry me and let me provide for her — not 
at such a moment as this. 

Her sobs slowly grew less violent. Then 
she turned on me with eyes beginning to 
sparkle angrily, and said : — 

" So you're a — wretched detective ! " 

" Not official," I said, hastily. 

" Well, I think you're a — p-p-perfect — 
p-p-pig ! " she sobbed. 



The Last of the Fourth Series, 


Whichever name we use, the first or last. 
Great is our country now, as in the past. 

1. Son of Elizabeth and Timothy, 
Father of Florence— visible is she. 

2. Monosyllabic rhyme for this will be 
Epithet of this noted family. 

3. Three words, or one ; it may be dignified. 
Or may to fraud and falsehood be allied. 

4. Princess and martyr here one celebrates. 
Whose name and fame a town perpetuates. 

5. Two-three-four, two-three-six, and one-two-three, 
All mean the same. Who can the lady be ? 

6. Where welcome waits, and triumph may be found, 
The experiment may with success be crowned. 

7. Heated, perhaps — the possibility 

Has not been overlooked, 'tis plain to see. 

•n pax. 

Answers to Acrostic No. 24 should be addressed to the 
Acrostic Editor, The Strand Magazine, Southampton 
Street, Strand, London, W.C., and must arrive not later 
than by the first post on March 10th. 

Two answers may be sent to every light. 

With their answers to this acrostic, solvers are requested 
to send also thtir names and addresses. 

Answer to No. 22. 

Answer to No. 23. 

1. A 

2. T 

3. H 

4. I 

5. R 

6. D 

nd r e 
a h i t 
a v e 
a pi n 





1. O 

2. I 

3. V 

4; E 

6. A 

6. N 

7. D 

af * 


e n d o 

v e ni n 


a rrati 





Notes. — Light 1. Ann Notes. — Light 2. Ind, 

drew, and drew. 2. A hit. I go. 5. Correggio. G.Narra- 

3. Latin, ave. hail. 4. Nap. tive. 7. John Doe, an 

5. A pin. 6, FroncK ar^e. imaginary plaintiff. 


Puzzle Pictures. 





By R. H, BROCK. 



On q i naT from 










u n i v ERSitY 5f Wrcflfi?^ ES - 














Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood. 


ORD DAWLISH had gone for 
a moonlight walk that night 
because, Like Claire, he wished 
to tie alone to think. lie had 
fallen with a pleasant ease and 
smoothness into the rather 
curious life lived at Elizabeth 
Boyd's bee-farm. A liking for picnics had 
lingered in him irom boyhood, and existence at 
Flack s was one prolonged picnic. He found 
that he had a natural aptitude for the more 
muscular domestic duties, and his energy in this 
direction enchanted Nutty, who be fore his ad% r ent 
had had a monopoly of these tasks. 

Nor was this the only aspect of the situation 
that pleased Nutty* When he had invited Bill 
to the farm he had had a vague hope that good 
might come of it, but he had never dreamed 
that things would turn out as well as they 
promised to do, or that such a warm and im- 
mediate friendship would spring up between 
his sister and the man who had diverted the 
iamily fortune into his own pocket* Bill and 
\ Elizabeth were getting on splendidly* They 
were together all the time — -walking, golfing, 
attending to the numerous needs of the be«s h 
or sitting on the porch. Nutty 's imagination 
began to run away with him* He seemed to 
smell the scent of orange-blossoms, to hear the 
joyous pealing of church bells — in fact, with 
tne difference that it was not his own wedding 
that he was anticipating, he had begun to take 
very much the same view of the future that was 
about to come to Dudley Pickering, 

FJizabeth would have been startled and 
embarrassed if she could have read his thoughts, 
lor they might have suggested to her that she 
was becoming a great deal fonder of Rill than 
the shortness oi their acquaintance warranted. 
Bat though she did not fail to observe the 
strangeness of her brother's manner, she traced 
it to another source than the real one. Nutty 
had a habit of starting back and removing 
nimselt when, entering the porch, he perceived 
that HjII and his sister were already seated there* 
His own impression on such occasions was that 
he was behaving with consummate tact. 
Elizabeth supposed that he had had some sort 
of a spasm, 

T3t5bgt& ! 

Lord Dawhsh, if he had been able to diagnose 
correctly the almost paternal attitude which 
had become his host's normal manner these 
days, would have been equally embarrassed 
but less startled, for conscience had already 
suggested to him from time to time that he 
had been guilty of a feeling toward Elizabeth 
warmer than any feeling that should come to 
an engaged mar, Lying in bed at the end of 
his first week at the farm, he reviewed the 
progress of his friendship with her, and was 
amazed at the rapidity with which it had 

He could not conceal it from himself — 
Elizabeth appealed to him* Being built on a 
large scale himself, he had always been attracted 
by small women. There was a smallness, a 
daintiness, a liveliness about Elizabeth that was 
almost irresistible. She was so capable, so 
cheerful in spite of the fact that she was having 
a hard time. And then their minds seemed to 
blend so remarkably. There were no odd 
corners to be smoothed away. Never in his 
life had he felt so supremely at his ease with 
one of the opposite sex. He loved Claire — -he 
drove that fact home almost angrily to himself — 
but he was forced to admit that he had always 
been aware of something in the nature of a barrier 
between them. Claire was querulous at times, 
and always a little too apt to take nftence, lie 
had never been able to talk to her with that 
easy freedom that Elizabeth invited. Talking 
to Elizabeth was like talking to an attractive 
version of oneself. It w f as a thing to be done 
with perfect confidence, without any of that 
apprehension which Claire inspired lest the next 
remark might prove the spark to cause an 
explosion. But Claire was the girl he loved — 
there must be no mistake about that. 

He came to the conclusion that the key to the 
situation was the fact that Elizabeth was 
American. He had read so much of the Ameri- 
can girt, her u naffer tedn ess. her genius for easy 
comradeship. Well t this must be what the 
writer- fellows meant. He had happened upon 
one of those delightful friendships without any 
suspicion of sex in them of which the American 
girl had the monopoly \>s, that must be it. 
It was a conferring explanation. It accounted 
for ihUi^q^f taftfligAlf henever he was 



away from Elizabeth for as much as half an 
hour. It accounted for the lact that they 
understood each other so well. It accounted 
for everything so satisfactorily that he was 
able to get to sleep that night after all. 

But next morning — for his conscience was 
one of those persistent consciences — he began 
to have doubts again. Nothing clings like a 
suspicion in the mind of a conscientious young 
man that he has been allowing his heart to 
stray from its proper anchorage. 

Could it be that he was behaving badly toward 
Claire ? The thought was unpleasant, but he 
could not get rid of it. He extracted Claire's 
photograph from his suit-case and gazed 
solemnly upon it. 

At first he was shocked to find that it only 
succeeded in convincing him that Elizabeth 
was quite the most attractive girl : ^e ever had 
met. The photographer had given Claire rather 
a severe look. He had told her to moisten the 
lips with the tip of the tongue and assume a 
pleasant smile, with the result that she seemed 
to glare. She had a rather markedly aggressive 
look, queenly perhaps, but not very comfortable. 
But there is no species of self-hypnotism equal 
to that of a man who gazes persistently at a 
photograph with the preconceived idea that he 
is in love with the original of it. Little by little 
Bill found that the old feeling began to return.- 
He persevered. By the end of a quarter of an 
hour he had almost succeeded in capturing anew 
that first fine careless rapture which, six months 
ago, had caused him to propose to Claire and 
walk on air when she accepted him. 

He continued the treatment throughout the 
day, and by dinner-time had arranged every- 
thing with his conscience in the most satis- 
factory manner possible. He loved Claire with 
a passionate fervour ; he liked Elizabeth very 
much indeed. He submitted this diagnosis to 
conscience, and conscience graciously approved 
and accepted it. 

It was Sunday that day. That helped. 
There is nothing like Sunday in a foreign country 
for helping a man to sentimental thoughts ol 
the girl he has left behind him elsewhere. And 
the fact that there was a full moon clinched it. 
Bill was enabled to go for an after-dinner stroll 
in a condition of almost painful loyalty to 

From time to time, as he walked along the 
road, he took out the photograph and did some 
more gazing. The last occasion on which he 
did this was just as he emerged from the shadow 
of a large tree that stood by the roadside, and 
a gush of rich emotion rewarded him. 
" Claire ! " he murmured. 
An exclamation at his elbow caused him to 
loMt up. There, leaning over a gate, the light 
of the moon falling on her beautiful face, stood 
Claire herself ! 


Iv trying interviews, as in sprint races, the 
start is everything. It was the fact that she 
recovered more quickly from her astonishment 
that enabled Claire to dominate her scene with 

Bill. She had the advantage of having a less 
complicated astonishment to recover from, for, 
though it was a shock to see him there when 
she had imagined that he was in New York, it 
was not nearly such a shock as it was to him 
to see her there when he had imagined that she 
was in England. She had adjusted her brain 
to the situation while he was still gaping. 

" Well, Bill ? " 

This speech m itself should have been enough 
to warn Lord Dawlish of impending doom. As 
far as love, affection, and tenderness are con- 
cerned, a girl might just as well hit a man with 
an axe as say " Well, Bill ?"to him when they 
have met unexpectedly in the moonlight after 
long separation. But Lord Dawlish was too 
shattered by surprise to be capable of observing 
nuances. If his love had ever waned or faltered, 
as conscience had suggested earlier in the day, 
it was at full blast now. 

" Claire ! " he cried. 

He was moving to take her in his arms, but 
she drew back. 

" No, really, Bill! " she said; and this time 
it did filter through into his disordered mind 
that all was not well. A man who is a good 
deal dazed at the moment may fail to appreciate 
a remark like " Well, Bill ? " but for a girl to 
draw back and say, " No, really, Bill ! " in a 
tone not exactly of loathing, but certainly of 
pained aversion, is a deliberately unfriendly act. 
The three short words, taken in conjunction with 
the movement, brought him up with as sharp a 
turn as if she had punched him in the eye. 

" Claire ! What's the matter ? " 

She looked at him steadily. She looked at 
him with a sort of queenly woodenness, as if 
he were behind a camera with a velvet bag' over 
his head and had just told her to moisten the 
lips with the tip of the tongue. Her aspect 
staggered Lord Dawlish. A cursory inspection 
of his conscience showed nothing but purity 
and whiteness, but he must have done something, 
or she w6uld not be staring at him like this. 

" I don't understand 1 " was the only remark 
that occurred to him. 

" Are you sure ? " 

" What do you mean ? " 

" I was at Reigelheimer's Restaurant 

Ah! n 

The sudden start which Lord Dawlish had 
given at the opening words of her sentence 
justified the concluding word. Innocent as his 
behaviour had been that night at Reigelheimer's, 
he had been glad at the time that he had not 
been observed. It now appeared that he had 
been observed, and it seemed to him that Long 
Island suddenly flung itself into a whirling 
dance. He heard Claire speaking a long way 
off : "I was there with Lady Wetherby. It 
was she who invited me to come to America. 
I went to the restaurant to see her dance — and 
I saw you ! " 

With a supreme effort Bill succeeded in calm- 
ing down the excited landscape. He willed the 
trees to stop dancing, and they came reluctantly 
to a standstill. 03Ttl^ri^4 >, ft c fei phased to swim and 




" Let me explain," he said. 

The moment he had said the words he wished 
he could recall them. Their substance was 
right enough; it was the sound of them that 
was wrong. They sounded like a line from a 
farce, where the erring husband has been caught 
by the masterful wife. They were ridiculous. 
Worse than being merely ridiculous, they 
created an atmosphere of guilt and evasion. 

" Explain I How can you explain ? It is 
impossible to explain. I saw you with my own 
eyes malting an exhibition of yourself with a 
horrible creature in salmon-pink. I'm not asking 
you who she is. I'm not questioning you about 
your relations with her at all. I don't care who 
she was. The mere fact that you were at a 
public restaurant with a person of that kind 
is enough. No doubt you think I am making a 
gfeat deal of fuss about a very ordinary thing. 
You consider that it is a man's privilege to do 
these things, if he can do them without being 
found out. But it ended everything so far as 
I am concerned. Am I unreasonable ? I don't 
think so. You steal off to America, thinking 
I am in England, and behave like this. How 
could you do that if vou really loved me ? It's 
the deceit of it that hurts me." 

Lord Dawlish drew in a few breaths of pure 
Long Island air, but he did not speak. He 
felt helpless. If he were to be allowed to with- 
draw into the privacy of the study and wrap 
a cold, wet towel about his forehead and buckle 
down to it, he knew that he could draft an 
excellent and satisfactory explanation of his 
presence at Reigelheimer's witn the Good Sport. 
But to do it on the spur ot the moment like this 
was beyond him. 

Claire was speaking again. She had paused 
for a while after her recent speech, in order to 
think of something else to say ; and during this 
pause had come to her mind certain excerpts 
from one of those admirable articles on love, 
by Luella Delia Fhilpotts, which do so much 
to boost the reading public of the United States 
into the higher planes. She had read it that 
afternoon in the Sunday paper, and it came 
back to her now. 

" I may be hypersensitive," she said, dropping 
her voice from the accusatory register to the 
lower tones of pathos, " but I have such high 
ideals of love. There can be no true love where 
there is not perfect trust. Trust is to love 
what " 

She paused again. She could not remember 
just what Luella Delia Philpotts had said trust 
was to love. It was something extremely neat, 
but it had slipped her memory. 

" A woman has the right to expect the man 
she is about to marry to regard their troth as 
a sacred obligation that shall keep him as pure 
as a young knight who has dedicated himself 
to the quest of the Holy Grail. And I find you 
in a public restaurant, dancing with a creature 
with yellow hair, upsetting waiters, and stagger- 
ing about with pats of butter all over you." 

Here a sense of injustice stung Lord Dawlish. 
It was true that after his regrettable collision 
with Heinrich, the waiter, he had discovered 

butter upon his person, but it was only one 
pat. Claire had spoken as if he had been 
festooned with butter. 

" I am not angry with you, only disappointed. 
What has happened has shown me that you 
do not really love me, not as I think of love. 
Oh, I know that when we are together you 
think you do, but absence is the test. Absence 
is the acid -test of love that separates the base 
metal from the true. After what has happened, 
we can't go on with our engagement. It would 
be farcical. I could never feel that way toward 
you again. We shall always be friends, I hope. 
But as for love — love is not a machine. It 
cannot be shattered and put together again." 

She turned and began to walk up the drive. 
Hanging over the top of the gate like a wet 
sock, Lord Dawlish watched her go. The 
interview was over, and he could not think of 
one single thing to say. Her white dress made 
a patch of light in the shadows. She moved 
slowly, as if weighed down by sad thoughts, 
like one who, as Luella Delia Philpotts beauti- 
fully puts it, paces with measured step behind 
the coffin of a murdered heart. The bend of 
the drive hid her from his sight. 

About twenty minutes later Dudley Pickering, 
smoking sentimentally in the darkness hard by 
the porch, received a shock. He was musing 
tenderly on his Claire, who was assisting him in 
the process by singing in the drawing-room, 
when he was aware of a figure, the sinister figure 
of a man who, pressed against the netting of 
the porch, stared into the lighted room beyond. 

Dudley Pickering's first impulse was to stride 
briskly up to the intruder, tap him on the 
shoulder, and ask him what the devil he wanted ; 
but a second look showed him that the other 
was built on too ample a scale to make this 
advisable. He was a large, fit-looking intruder. 

Mr. Pickering was alarmed. There had been 
the usual epidemic of burglaries that season. 
Houses had been broken into, valuable pos- 
sessions removed. In one case a negro butler 
had been struck over the head with a gas-pipe 
and given a headache. In these circumstances, 
it was unpleasant to find burly strangers looking 
in at windows. 

" Hi ! " cried Mr. Pickering. 

The intruder leaped a foot. It had not 
occurred to Lord Dawlish, when in an access of 
wistful yearning he had decided to sneak up 
to the house in order to increase his anguish 
by one last glimpse of Claire, that other members 
of the household might be out in the grounds. 
He was just thinking sorrowfully, as he listened 
to the music, how like his own position was to 
that of the hero of Tennyson's " Maud " — a 
poem to which he was greatly addicted when 
Mr. Pickering's " Hi ! " came out of nowhere 
and hit him like a torpedo. 

He turned in agitation. Mr. Pickering having 
prudently elected to stay in the shadows, there 
was no one to be seen. It was as if the voice of 
conscience had shouted " Hi ! " at him. He 
was just wondering if he had imagined the 
whole thing, when he perceived the red glo* 
of a cigar and beyond it a shadowy form. 



It was not the fact that he was in an equivocal 
position, staring into a house which did not 
belong to him, with his feet on somebody else's 
private soil, that caused Bill to act as he did. 
It was the fact that at that moment he was 
not feeding equal to conversation with anybody 
on any subject whatsoever. It did not occur 
to him that his behaviour might strike a nervous 
stranger as suspicious. All he aimed at was the 
swift removal of himself from a spot infested 
by others of his species. He ran, and Mr. 
Pickering, having followed him with the eye of 
fear, went rather shakily into the house, his 
brain whirling with professional cracksmen and 
gas-pipes and assaulted butlers, to relate his 

44 A great, hulking, ruffianly sort of fellow 
glaring in at the window," said Mr. Pickering. 
" I shouted at him and he ran like a rabbit." 

"Gee! Must have been one of the gang 
that's been working down here," said Roscoe 
Sherriff. ,# There might be a quarter of a 
column in that, properly worked, but I guess 
I'd better wait until he actually does bust the 

" We must notify the police ! " 
'* Notify the police, and have them butt in 
and stop the thing and kill a good story I " 
There was honest amazement in the Press- 
agent's voice. " Let me tell you, it isn't so 
easy to get publicity these days that you want 
to go out of your way to stop it ! " 

Mr. Pickering was appalled. A dislike of this 
man, which had grown less vivid since his scene 
with Claire, returned to him with redoubled 

** Why, we may all be murdered in our beds ! " 
he cried. 

" Front-page stuff ! " said Roscoe Sherriff, 
with gleaming eyes. " And three columns at 
least. Fine ! " 

It might have consoled Lord Dawlish 
somewhat, as he lay awake that night, to 
have known that the man who had taken 
Claire from him — though at present he was not 
aware of such a man's existence — also slept ilL 


Lady Wetherby sat in her room, writing 
letters. The rest of the household were variously 
employed. Roscoe Sherrirl was prowling about 
the house, brooding on campaigns of publicity. 
Dudley Pickering was walking in the grounds 
with Claire. In a little shack in the woods 
that adjoined the high-road, which he had con- 
verted into a temporary studio, Lord Wetherby 
was working on a picture which he proposed to 
call " Innocence/' a study of a small Italian 
child he had discovered in Washington Square. 
Lady Wetherby, who had been taken to see 
the picture, had suggested " The Black Hand's 
Newest Recruit " as a better title than the one 
selected by the artist. 

It is a fact to be noted that of the entire 
household only Lady Wetherby could fairly be 
described as happy. It took very little to make 
I~ady Wetherby happy. Fine weather, good 
food, and a complete abstention from classical 

dancing — give her these and she asked no more. 
She was, moreover, delighted at Claire's engage- 
ment. It seemed to her, for she had no know- 
ledge of the existence of Lord Dawlish, a 
genuine manifestation of Love's Young Dream. 
She liked Dudley Pickering and she was devoted 
to Claire. It made her happy to think that it 
was she who had brought them together. 

But of the other members of the party, 
Dudley Pickering was unhappy because he 
feared that burglars were about to raid the 
house ; Roscoe Sherrirl because he feared they 
were not ; Claire because, now that the news of 
the engagement was out, it seemed to be every- 
body's aim to leave her alone with Mr. Pickering, 
whose undiluted society tended to pall. And 
Lord Wetherby was unhappy because he found 
Eustace, the monkey, a perpetual strain upon 
his artistic nerves. It was Eustace who had 
driven him to his shack in the woods. He could 
have painted far more comfortably in the house, 
but Eustace had developed a habit of stealing 
up to him and plucking the leg of his trousers ; 
and an artist simply cannot give of his best 
with that sort of thing going on. 

Lady Wetherby wrote on. She was not fond 
of letter-writing and she had allowed her 
correspondence to accumulate ; but she was 
disposing of it in an energetic and conscientious 
way, when the entrance of Wrench, the butler, 
interrupted her, 

Wrendh had been imported from England at 
the request of Lord Wetherby, who had said 
that it soothed him and kept him from feeling 
home-sick to see a butler about the place. Since 
then he had been hanging to the establishment 
as it were by a hair. He gave the impression 
of being always on the point of giving notice. 
There were so many things connected with his 
position of whicjx he disapproved. He had 
made no official pronouncement of the matter, 
but Lady Wetherby knew that he disapproved 
of her classical dancing. His last position had 
been with the Dowager Duchess of Waveney, 
the well-known political hostess, who — even had 
the somewhat generous lines on wnich she was 
built not prevented the possibility of such a 
thing — would have perished rather than dance 
barefooted in a public restaurant. Wrench also 
disapproved of America. That fact had been 
made plain immediately upon his arrival in 
the country. He had given America one look, 
and then his mind was made up— he disapproved 
of it. 

" If you please, m'lady ! " 

Lady Wetherby turned. The butler was 
looking even more than usually disapproving, 
and his disapproval had, so to speak, crystallized, 
as if it had found some more concrete and definite 
objective than either barefoot dancing or the 
United States. 

" If you please, m'lady — the hape ! " 

It was Wrench's custom to speak of Eustace 
in a tone of restrained disgust. He disapproved 
of Eustace. The Dowager Duchess of Waveney, 
though she kept open house for members of 
Parliament, would have drawn the line at 





by GoOgk' 


Original from 



" The hape is behaving very strange, m'lady," 
said Wrench, frostily. 

It has been well saipl that in this world there 
is always something. A moment before, Lady 
Wetherby had been feeling completely contented, 
without a care on her horizon. It was foolish 
of her to have expected such a state of things 
to last, for what is life but a series of sharp 
corners, round each of which Fate lies in wait 
for us with a stuffed eelskin ? Something in 
the butler's manner, a sort of gloating gloom 
which he radiated, told her that she had arrived 
at one of these corners now. 

•' The hape is seated on the kitchen-sink, 
m'lady, throwing new-laid eggs at the scullery- 
maid, and cook desired me to step up and ask 
for instructions." 

" What ! " Lady Wetherby rose in agitation. 
" What's he doing that for ? " she asked, weakly. 

A slight, dignified gesture was Wrench's only 
reply. It was not his place to analyze the 
motives of monkeys. 

" Throwing eggs ! " 

The sight of Lady Wetherby 's distress melted 
the butler's stern reserve. He unbent so far as 
1 to supply a clue. 

1 "As I understand from cook, m'lady, the 

animal appears to have taken umbrage at a 
lack of cordiality on the part of the cat. It 
seems that the hape attempted to fondle the 
cat, but the latter scratched him ; being 
suspicious," said Wrench, " of his bona fides." 
tie scrutinized the ceiling with a dull eye. 
" Whereupon," he continued, " he seized her 
tail and threw her with considerable force. 
He then removed ^himself to the sink and began 
to hurl eggs at the scullery-maid." 

Lady Wetherby's mental eye attempted to 
produce a picture of the scene, but failed. 

" I suppose I had better go down and see 
about it," she said. 

Wrench withdrew his gaze from the ceiling. 

" I think it would be advisable, m'lady. The 
scullery-maid is already in hysterics." 

Lady Wetherby led the way to the kitchen. 
She was wroth with Eustace. This was just 
the sort, of thing out of which Algie would be 
able to make unlimited capital. It weakened 
her position with Algie. There was only one 
thing to do — she must hush it up. 

Her first glance, however, at the actual 
theatre of , war gave her the impression that 
matters had advanced beyond the hushing-up 
stage. A yellow desolation brooded over the 
kitchen. It was not so much a kitchen as an 
omelette. There were eggs everywhere, from 
floor .to -ceiling. She crunched her way in on a 
carpet of oozing shells. 

Her entry was a signal for a renewal on a more 
impressive scale of the uproar that she had heard 
while opening the door. The air was full of 
voices. The cook was expressing : herself in 
Norwegian, the parlour- maid in what appeared 
to be Erse. On a chair in a corner the scullery- 
maid sobbed and whooped. The odd-job man, 
who was a baseball enthusiast, was speaking in 
terms of high praise of Eustace's combined 
speed and control. 

The only calm occupant of the room was 
Eustace himself, who, either through a shortage 
of ammunition or through weariness of the 
pitching-arm, had suspended active hostilities, 
and was now looking down on the scene from a 
high shelf. There was a brooding expression 
in his deep-set eyes. He massaged his right ear 
with the sole of his left foot in a somewhat 
distrait manner. 

11 Eustace ! " cried Lady Wetherby, severely. 

Eustace lowered his foot and gazed at her 
meditatively, then at the odd-job man, then at 
the scullery-maid, whose voice rose high above 
the din. 

" I rather fancy, m'lady," said Wrench, dis- 
passionately, " that the animal is about to hurl 
a plate." 

It had escaped the notice of those present 
that the shelf on which the rioter had taken 
refuge was within comfortable reach of the 
dresser, but Eustace himself had not overlooked 
this important strategic point. As the butler 
spoke, Eustace picked up a plate and threw it 
at the scullery-maid, whom he seemed definitely 
to have picked out as the most hostile of the 
allies. It was a fast inshoot, and hit the wall 
just above her head. 

" 'At - a - boy ! " said the odd - job man, 

Lady Wetherby turned on him with some 
violence. His detached attitude was the most 
irritating of the many irritating aspects of the 
situation. She paid this man a weekly wage 
to do odd jobs. The capture of Eustace was 
essentially an odd job. Yet, instead of doing 
it, he hung about with the air of one who has 
paid his half-dollar and bought his bag of pea- 
nuts and has now nothing to do but look on 
and enjoy himself. 

" Why don't you catch him ? " she cried. 

The odd- job man came out of his trance. A 
sudden realization came upon him that life was 
real and life -was earliest, and: that /if he did 
not wish to jeopardize a good situation he must 
bestir himself. Everybody was looking at him 
expectantly. It seemed to be definitely up to 
him. It was imperative that, whatever he did, 
he should do it quickly. There was an apron 
hanging over the back of a chair. More with 
the idea of doing something than because he 
thought he would achieve anything definite 
thereby, he picked up the apron and flung it at 
Eustace. Luck was with him. The apron 
enveloped Eustace just as he was winding up 
for another inshoot and was off his balance. 
He tripped and fell, clutched at the apron to 
save himself, and came to the ground swathed 
m it, giving the effect of an apron mysteriously 
endowed with life. The triumphant odd-job 
man, pressing his advantage like a good general, 
gathered up the ends, converted it into a rude 
bag, and one more was added to the long list 
of the victories of the human over the brute 

Everybody had a suggestion now. The cook 
advocated drowning. The parlour-maid favoured 
the idea of the prisoner with a broom- 
handle. Wrench, eyeing the struggling apron 



disapprovingly, mentioned that Mr. Pickering 
had bought a revolver that morning. 

" Put him in the coal-cellar," said Lady 

Wrench was more far-seeing. 

" If I might offer the warning, m'lady," said 
Wrench, " not the cellar. It is full of coal. It 
would be placing temptation in the animal's 

The odd-job man endorsed this. 

" Put him in the garage, then," said Lady 

The odd-job man departed, "bearing his 
heaving bag at arm's length. The cook and 
the parlour-maid addressed themselves to com- 
forting and healing the scullery-maid. Wrench 
went off to polish silver, Lady Wetherby to 
resume her letters. The cat was the last of 
the party to return to the normal. She came 
down from the chimney an hour later, covered 
with soot, demanding restoratives. 

Lady Wetherby finished her letters. She cut 
them short, for Eustace's insurgence had inter- 
fered with her flow of ideas. She went into the 
drawing-room, where she found Roscoe Sherriff 
strumming on the piano. 

" Eustace has bee